


When Worlds Collide

by stonerowboat



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Developing Friendships, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Drama, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, dubious use of Fade magic as a plot device, with another playthrough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerowboat/pseuds/stonerowboat
Summary: Is there just the one reality, or are there more than one? Inquisitor Hera Adaar is forced to ask herself this when a man named Trevelyan appears, claiming he is from an entirely different world, where he walks in her shoes. Is he the envy demon come back to haunt her? Is he telling the truth? Hera must work with this stranger and Solas to return him to his own world. In the meantime, he might as well tag along on her journey. Follows the events of the game through in-between scenes.
Relationships: Female Adaar/Josephine Montilyet, Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, background Male Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 12
Kudos: 5





	1. The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Orlesian Job](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21035504) by [juniperwick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperwick/pseuds/juniperwick). 



> Inspired more by Juniperwick's Inquisitor himself, than the events of the fic. 
> 
> Juniperwick's Inquisitor wandering around in my playthrough, and a look at what my Inquisitor might make of it. Trevelyan and Adaar have such different canon backgrounds I thought it'd be fun to mix them and see how those backgrounds inform the way they interact.
> 
> (Thanks to Juniperwick for the lend of their Trevelyan.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Hera Adaar bears the wieght of the world on her shoulders as the only person with the power to close Fade rifts in her hand. But wait, who is this stranger? How does he know her companions by name? Why is the anchor also with him?

The sun was low in the sky when Hera laid her practise maul aside and wiped the sweat from her eyes, the linen wraps on her wrists and forearms proving inefficient, soaked as they were. She had been practising since sunup, with only the occasional break to dive into the Herald’s Rest for a drink and occasional chat and the wooden dummy was showing the strain. It creaked sadly in the breeze, the left arm wobbling in the stronger gusts, the rope holding it to the trunk worn and beginning to unravel. Small craters pockmarked its simple wooden body, impact wounds from her practise maul – lighter than her field weapon it nevertheless left its mark. She rolled her shoulders and began to unbind her hands, flexing her fingers to work the stiffness out and stretching her neck back, the joints of both popping and cracking gratifyingly. There was a disgusted noise to her left and Hera couldn’t help the quirk of her lip.  
“Cassandra.” She said, looking the woman side-on as the linen wrap fell away from her left forearm, “something displeases you?” She turned her head in time to see the shorter woman roll her eyes and cross her arms over her chest.  
“That joint cracking you are all so fond of. It is completely unnecessary.”  
“We?”  
“You, The Iron Bull, Blackwall. Do you all believe it makes you somehow more intimidating? I assure you, it does not.”  
Hera stretched am arm out in response, taking a childishly spiteful satisfaction at the pop of her elbow and Cassandra’s corresponding cringe. She gave Hera one of her death glares, though it was diluted with fondness.  
“Stop it. It’s disgusting.” Hera chuckled.  
“You can’t tell me you’ve never popped a joint after a good exercise.”  
“I do not have to, I stretch regularly.” Hera shot her an appraising look and Cassandra huffed. “Save your bedroom eyes for Lady Montilyet.”  
Hera laughed outright. “Bedroom eyes!” she said between chortles. Cassandra raised an eyebrow and shot her a look, before shaking her head, uncrossing her arms and stepping forward to inspect the sorry looking mannequin.  
“I didn’t come here to be serenaded by your musical joints. There has been a…development.”  
Hera’s mirth died a quick death. “Development?” Developments, in her experience, were never a good thing.  
Casandra nodded, turning away from the dummy. “It is better if you speak with Josephine, she knows all of the details, but a stranger has turned up in the latest group of refugees. A minor noble, I think.”  
“There are a number of minor nobles here, it’s not that much of a surprise surely?”  
“Not his heritage, no. The fact that he bears the same mark as you,” she gestured to Hera’s left hand, “is cause for pause.”  
Hera blinked, certain she must have misunderstood. “This person has the Anchor?”  
“It appears so. He has asked for an audience with you specifically. I believe Josephine is keeping him occupied.”  
Hera took her practise maul and vaulted the fence that marked the sparring grounds in Skyhold’s courtyard, making her way over to the small shed full of practise weapons and placing hers with others of its kind. “I’ll head over now then.” She glanced at the sun, “Have you eaten yet? Supper should still be on the table.” She began striding off towards the main keep. Cassandra followed at a slight trot.  
“No, though I ate lunch late. You didn’t eat at all. Why is that?”  
Hera shrugged, studiously avoiding the other woman’s gaze. “I was practising.”  
“Yes, but all day? Harding almost had to force that ale upon you.”  
Hera shot her a smirk. “Just how long were you watching me?”  
Cassandra didn’t take the bait and Hera made the mistake of glancing over at her as she mounted the first step up to the hall. The shorter woman clamped a strong hand around Hera’s forearm and she was forced to either stop or continue walking and drag the other woman along behind her. Hera stopped.  
“What is troubling you my friend?”  
Hera forced a laugh. “Nothing is –“  
“Don’t lie to me, you haven’t the face for dishonesty. Something is playing on your mind, something you need to spend the day systematically dismantling our practise dummies to ignore. What is it?”  
Hera scrubbed her hand back over her head, a few damp strands of hair catching on her fingers and pulling loose from her bun. “Do we have to do this now? You said that this highborn chap is waiting –“  
“I’m sure Josephine can entertain him a little while longer. And I know you. If I give you an hour you will bury this entirely. You have been distracted of late, don’t think I am the only one to have noticed.” She released Hera’s arm and quirked her lips in a tight smile. “I am just the pushiest.”  
Hera couldn’t help the snort. “It’s just –“ she shook her head, dispelling the images of herself eerie eyed and condemning her friends to death amid veilfire and smoke, “it’s just night terrors. Adamant brought a lot of…” she shrugged and gestured expansively with her hands, “things to the forefront. I told you how that demon was in my head at Therinfall?” Cassandra nodded, expression solemn. “Well, let’s just say it’s not been a good few weeks for sleep.”  
Cassandra hummed and started back up the crooked stairs to Skyhold’s main keep, Hera following, taking the steps one at a time rather than three. “It does still wake me on occasion. But then, I suppose I have my faith as comfort.”  
Hera smirked and rolled her eyes. “Trying to convert me again?”  
Cassandra scoffed. “Of course not. You are far too stubborn, I would not waste my breath.”  
Hera chuckled, throwing a smirk and a wave over her shoulder as they passed Varric in the great hall. His wry voice followed their retreating backs “Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” and Cassandra huffed. Hera side-eyed her.  
“You should play nice, Cassandra, or he might decide to give up his career as your personal source of smut.”  
Cassandra seemed to choke on air for a moment as they neared the door to Josephine’s office and Hera guffawed. The seeker managed to collect herself and swat at Hera’s arm before knocking shortly on the door. “Seeker Pentaghast and Inquisitor Adaar, my Lady Ambassador,” she said clearly, glaring at Hera to get her wheezing chuckles under control.  
Josephine’s accented voice floated back through the door. “Ah, please come in Seeker, Inquisitor.” Cassandra pushed the door open and marched through, Hera loped afterwards, ducking slightly to avoid colliding with the frame. Josephine’s office was much the same as it usually was, with stacks of vellum and rolled parchment adorning her wide desk and most other available surfaces. Candles burned on her desk, burnishing the woman’s warm bronze skin and casting an amber glow over the figure sat in the other chair. Josephine stood to greet them and the stranger followed suit. Hera took his measure with a quick glance: he was human, probably slightly taller than Cassandra but not by much, pale hair, blond or white, though it was difficult to tell in the candlelight, and eyes like that of a bird of prey, though she couldn’t tell if the gold of his irises was natural or an effect of the firelight. He was undeniably attractive, with frankly ridiculous cheekbones and a jaw that belonged in one of Varric’s books; the smutty ones Cassandra was fond of. He seemed to be having trouble deciding where to look; there was a strange fondness in his face when he looked at Cassandra and Josephine, undercut with confusion and some not inconsiderable pain. He seemed entirely distrustful of her, however. His left hand was balled into a fist, shards of green light bleeding through the gaps in his fingers. Hera’s own digits itched and crackled at the sight. She settled herself against the wall, halfway between Cassandra and Josephine should she need to rush to either’s defence, and did her utmost to appear casually interested.  
Josephine spoke. “Seeker Pentaghast, my Lady Inquisitor, this is ser Kay Trevelyan of Ostwick. Ser Trevelyan: Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Inquisitor Hera Adaar. Ser Trevelyan has…interesting news.”  
There was a pregnant pause, during which Trevelyan looked Hera over with no attempt at subtlety, then glanced back at Josephine.  
“Is Solas not joining our little party?”  
Hera raised an eyebrow. His voice had the unmistakable irreverent twang of someone who’d grown up in luxury and hated it. Cassandra spoke up before Hera could respond, voice stony. “And who are you to be making demands of our people? Tell us your ‘interesting news’ and our Inquisitor will decide whether it merits further audience.”  
Trevelyan shrugged. “It’s always nice to be invited to these things.” He said by way of explanation. Hera kept her stare carefully blank. The blond sighed, some of the fake cheer leaving his face and he raised his hands placatingly. “Okay, can we stop with the glares of death, please? I just thought it might be useful to have Solas here, given that he is the only person I know of who understands the fade enough to explain how I got here.” He gestured at Hera with his left hand, fingers splayed, and she could see the gash of green across his palm exactly the same as her own. “Before today, you were the only person in Thedas with this mark, with the power to close fade rifts and seal the breach, am I correct?”  
Hera looked back at him steadily and nodded. “As far as I’m aware.”  
The blond nodded, as if expecting her answer. “And I’ll hazard a guess that you know little about the fade, besides the fact that it’s creepy as all hell and full of spiders.”  
Hera couldn’t quite help the quirk of her lip. “No, to be honest I don’t. I generally ask Solas about such matters.”  
“Precisely! And since the fade is the only thing I can think of to explain all this nonsense that’s why he needs to be here.”  
Hera considered him for a moment, he seemed earnest, if annoyed and a little flustered, but such things were easy to fake, with enough skill. She looked at his hand again and the image of her own shadowed reflection laughing cruelly in her friends’ faces returned unbidden. Her lips tightened and she nodded at Cassandra, the other woman shot her a warning look but left to find their wayward elf, if nothing else he might be able to explain where the creature obtained a second anchor. Hera uncrossed her ankles and pushed herself off the wall, addressing Josephine but keeping her eyes on the stranger. “My Lady Ambassador, I believe I left a report on the war table this morning, there was mention of unusual rift activity, could you retrieve it please? It might prove useful.”  
Josephine blinked at her but didn’t miss a step, of course she was much better at The Game than she. “Of course Inquisitor.” She dropped a quick bow to the blond, who was looking at Hera knowingly, and left with a rustle of fine skirts. Hera moved to lean a hip against Josephine’s vacant desk, hoping the blond wouldn’t notice that this conveniently blocked his quickest route through the door. He did, or seemed to if the pointed look and eloquent eyebrow was anything to go by, and stood in response, subtly moving into a basic protective stance. He kept his voice light, belying the sudden tension in the room.  
“Masterfully done. Do you mean to strike me down or have my stunningly good looks finally won you over?”  
Hera didn’t smile. “You were being overly familiar with my companions. You are the envy demon I banished to the fade at Therinfall are you not?”  
Trevelyan seemed honestly taken aback. “Envy demon? Why in the world would you think that?”  
“It’s the only explanation. You failed to imitate me then, I forced you out of my mind before you could overcome me, but you took something, enough, I imagine, to make some poor sap into a cheap copycat. So what’s your plan?”  
“Cheap!” He shook himself. “Look, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not a demon, I’ve never even been to Therinfall – I was too busy in Redcliffe saving the thrice-damned world again.”  
That piqued her interest. “Redcliffe? The mages? You infiltrated them also?”  
“I’ve not infiltrated anyone! I am no demon, I helped the mages of Redcliffe deal with their wayward Magister Alexius, who was using temporal magic to truly cock things up for everyone. This was some time ago, before Solas led me to Skyhold even. Did you not deal with them?”  
Hera ignored the small bite of guilt at the memory of so many mages under Corypheus’s thrall at Haven. “No. We leant aid to the Templars, we were too late to help the mages after what happened at Therinfall.” She paused to see if any memory stirred. “With the red lyrium.” Still nothing. “Where you then tried to invade my brain and take over my body so you could systematically destroy the world.”  
“I’m sorry, was this me or the envy demon? We’re so obviously interchangeable.” His voice was drier than the Western Approach.  
“Well what else could you be! At least I have something resembling an explanation for this madness. All you’ve done is snipe!”  
“I’ll tell you when Solas gets here.”  
“Ah, I see, my rift mage has somehow sealed your story away inside some fade-pocket of your brain and you can’t speak of it without the password.” She was getting angry, and slipping into her usual caustic sarcasm.  
The blond was smirking, he seemed to enjoy goading her. “I just don’t see the point in telling it twice.”  
“Other than preventing the angry Vashoth from pummelling you?”  
“You wouldn’t dare, I’m far too pretty.”  
Hera turned away with a growl as both the doors through which Josephine and Cassandra left opened almost simultaneously. Josephine peeked her head through the door on Hera’s right, seemingly more puzzled than concerned, while Cassandra strode through the one on Hera’s left, Solas in tow. Cassandra raised an eyebrow.  
“Inquisitor? Is everything alright?”  
Hera took a breath. “It’s fine. Solas, would you be kind enough to talk to our guest? I’m afraid I’m getting quite tired of his games.”  
Trevelyan _pouted _at her. “And we were just beginning to have fun, too.” She glared at him. “Oh, no the death glare’s back.” Josephine blinked bemusedly between the two of them, Cassandra frowned. Hera shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.  
“Solas? Please?”  
Solas turned to the infuriating human. “Seeker Pentaghast mentioned something about the fade. You were…displaced?”  
Trevelyan nodded, suddenly all business. “I think I come from some…alternate universe from your own, possibly connected by the fade. In it, I am Inquisitor, all of you exist there” he gestured to Cassandra, Josephine and Solas, “as well as the rest, Dorian, Sera, Bull, Cole, Vivienne, Varric, Blackwall. Cullen and Leliana too.” He started counting on his fingers, “Harding, Harrit, Meredyn, Bull’s Chargers, Morrigan, Mother Giselle -,”  
Cassandra huffed. “I think we get the idea.”  
“Well then. Yes. That’s it. We’re currently working with the mages to bring down Corypheus. Last I remember, we’d just taken Adamant from the tragically misguided Wardens, fallen through a fade rift and fought a frankly terrifying number of spiders and oversized spider-themed demons. We lost Hawke to it, he stayed behind to buy us time to escape with Alistair-“  
Hera blinked. “Wait. _We _lost Hawke, _she _stayed behind so we could escape with Stroud. Who’s Alistair?”  
The blonde frowned at her, he looked as confused as she was. “Alistair Therin, he-“  
Cassandra interjected, incredulous, “The _King of Ferelden _ventured into the fade with you?”  
The stranger shook his head and flapped at them, looking entirely lost. “I think we have some hilarious misunderstanding here. Tristan Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and the Grey Warden Alistair Therin fell through the fade with us at Adamant. We met a giant spidery nightmare, literally, and Hawke stayed behind to give us, Alistair included, time to escape back to Adamant.”  
Hera nodded. “Alright, so there are some differences with our worlds then. Alistair Therin is King of Thedas and decidedly _wasn’t _with us in the fade at Adamant. The Grey Warden Stroud was, as well as _Maeve _Hawke. She – Hawke – stayed behind to fight the Nightmare while we escaped with Stroud.” She paused. “I’m sorry for your loss. Hawke was a good woman, I’m sure your Tristan was cut from the same cloth.”  
Trevelyan opened his mouth, perhaps to argue further, but closed it and nodded instead. “And for yours.” There was a pause as they considered each other and Trevelyan continued, “So, yes. I fell out of the fade and the others, Dorian, Cole and Cassandra – my Dorian, Cole and Cassandra,” he hastened to add, “didn’t emerge with me. I can only assume they returned safely home.” He deflated a little, “And, yes, that’s rather it.”  
Hera turned her gaze to Solas. He stared contemplatively at the other man for a moment. “He is not a demon,” he said at length, “nor is there anything demonic about him.” Trevelyan shot Hera a look. She ignored him. Solas continued. “The fade is vast, larger than any mortal can ever hope to comprehend. It is also entirely different within, as you will both have experienced. Reality as you know it is warped. I will need to look into this, but the existence of a reality twinned with our own is not beyond the realm of possibility.” He nodded at Trevelyan. “Whether it is possible to restore you to this world is a different matter. I will conduct research into this.” He turned and left without preamble. The room was quiet for a moment.  
“So, does this make you Inquisitor or me Inquisitor?”  
Hera sighed, ignoring him. “Josephine, has Hawke’s room been allocated to anyone else yet?”  
She shook her head. “Not as yet.”  
Hera nodded. “Then our guest can stay there for the time being, we’ll assess the situation in a week or so, or earlier if Solas finds anything sooner. We’ll call a meeting in the morning to appraise the others of the situation. For now, however, it has been a long day, excuse me.”  
Trevelayn _pouted _again. A grown man, pouting. “But I want the Inquisitor’s chambers. I do hold the title as well, if you recall.”  
Hera paused in the door and shrugged. “You’re welcome to fight me for them.” She straightened her spine and did her best to loom. It wasn’t hard, given that she was easily a head taller than him. “You’ll lose, of course, but you’re welcome to try.” She heard Cassandra snort into her fist. The shorter man waved his hand dismissively.  
“No, no. Never mind. I prefer Hawke’s quarters, much more humble. My chambers are far too…gaudy. Sickening, really.”  
Hera smirked. “Really now? I find them quite lovely. It was our own Ambassador who chose the décor, of course, and her taste is utterly impeccable.” She left the room with a muffled snicker as the blond did his best to backtrack in the face of Hera’s now glaring lover and headed to her own rooms for a bath and a night hopefully free of nightmares.______________

_____ _

\--

_____ _

The next morning found them in much the same position, though Josephine’s relatively large office seemed cramped with the rest of Hera’s party and her two other advisors crowding the walls. Varric closed the door behind him, the last to enter. “So what’s with the super-secret breakfast bash?”  
Hera rolled her eyes fondly at him and gestured to Trevelyan, standing beside her. “This is Ser Kay Trevelyan.” She glanced at him, “I assume no introductions are necessary?” She asked lowly, the man nodded and she turned back to the room. “We don’t know how, or why but it seems Ser Trevelyan here is from somewhere beyond the fade, as far as we can tell.” There were suitably confused murmurs from her audience and she held up a hand for quiet. “This place appears to be something of a mirror of our own, in which the world is largely the same, with largely the same people in it, but instead of me leading the Inquisition, it is him. That’s really all we know for the moment. Solas is working on it but until he comes back with his findings ser Trevelyan is a guest of the Inquisition. I shouldn’t need to say it but this is not to be discussed with anyone outside of this room. If you feel an extra party need be involved please see me first.” She shrugged. “And that’s it I think.” She looked over at Trevelyan, “Unless you can think of anything else My Lord?”  
He rolled his eyes at her. “Can we dispense with the title, please? Trevelyan is fine. Kay is better, if only because I absolutely despise being reminded of my family ties.” He looked aside at Hera, “And you’re far too obviously unused to using them, it’s frankly painful to watch. Mercenary, am I right?”  
Hera rolled her eyes to the ceiling but didn’t take the bait, she had been uncommonly short tempered yesterday, which she attributed to her poor quality of sleep of late. She nodded instead. “Any good?”  
Hera shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. Most would say yes, very good.”  
“And the rest?”  
She couldn’t quite help the quirk of her lip. “Are either dead or shortly will be. Right!” She turned to the rest of the room. “I’ve not had breakfast yet so I’ll be taking my leave. Bull, if your chargers have eaten all the good stuff again I swear you’re sitting Vinsomar out.”  
“Boss!”  
“Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, I’ll see you this afternoon at the council. Everyone else, play nice.” She nodded sharply at her assembled company in farewell and strode out into the hall and towards the mess, stomach rumbling. She smiled as she heard Sera’s unmistakable cackle behind her.

_____ _


	2. When Trevelyan met Jenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new stranger isn't an envy demon, thank the stars. Cole seems to like him, which is encouraging, but so does Sera. Hera wonders if the demon might have been preferable. Harding finds it all hilarious.

Hera was sitting on the ramparts with Cole when Trevelyan found her that afternoon shortly after the war council. She and Cole’s strangely existential conversations had become something of a constant ever since she’d begun coaching him towards a more mortal existence. Usually the young man flitted off when someone interrupted, but he remained comfortably on his stony perch, wide pale eyes watching the other man approach. She nodded as the other man neared and he gestured rudely at her.  
“You _left _me with them! All of them at once! It took me _hours _to get away. Sera kept trying to fill my breeches with bees!”  
“I thought you knew them.”  
“Well yes, but I don’t deal with them all at once, ganging up on me like that. It’s madness.”  
“Ah, you’ve not learned how to wrangle them yet. Don’t worry, it’ll come with time. I suppose I do have an unfair advantage; you learn a thing or two about crowd control when you captain a band of unruly mercenaries.”  
“You are a stranger, but you are not strange.”  
Hera turned. “Cole?”  
The younger man was looking at Trevelyan, eyes distant and misty. “I fear strangers, because they think me strange and fear me. You are familiar; you feel like Hera, in some ways, but not in others. She is warm and patient, but sad. She sounds like cheering and swords clashing, knives in the dark. You are angry, not sad, and you sound like dogs and horns, hooves and snapping bowstrings. But laughter too, both of you sound of laughter.” He paused, as if listening to something neither she nor Trevelyan could hear, which was probably true enough. “It is like you are one person in two places. I think…I think I need to go for a walk. Away. You…hurt” he tapped at his head through his strange hat, “in here. It’s loud.”  
Hera nodded. “That’s alright Cole, I’m sorry we’re making this difficult for you.” The young man shook his head absentmindedly as he stood and began to walk along the parapet, balancing fearlessly on the narrow wall. “Not difficult, only trying.” He mumbled as he walked and she and Trevelyan watched him go. The pale-haired man came to stand beside her, though didn’t sit, and shook his head fondly at Cole’s retreating back. In the afternoon light Hera could see that his hair was white, not blond as she’d originally thought and the amber of his eyes was not a trick of the firelight.  
“I forget how odd he must seem to others, I’ve grown so used to his fumbling humanity.”  
Hera hummed. Trevelyan chuckled.  
“I remember when we first met, back at Haven. There was noise outside, soldiers, war cries, and suddenly nothing. He’d just–“ He made a swift chopping motion with his hand. “Deadly with a knife, but so unfalteringly compassionate. It’s a strange duality.”  
Hera nodded and they lapsed into silence. Trevelyan sank into a crouch beside her. “You met him at Therinfall, didn’t you?”  
She glanced at him. “What makes you think that?”  
Trevelyan shrugged. “I met Dorian when we helped the mages in Redcliffe. Afterwards, Cole came to warn us that we were under attack from the Templars under Corypheus’s thrall. You said last night that you helped the Templars at Therinfall.” He shrugged again. “Just conjecture.”  
Hera nodded. “I did meet him there. He helped me push the envy demon out.”  
“The envy demon that isn’t me?” Hera shot him an exasperated look and he smiled. “Sorry, go on.”  
Hera sighed, though there was no real heat to it. “It was having the senior most Templars dose themselves with red lyrium infusions, they all lost themselves to it. It forced its way into my head and tried to steal my memories, become me, so it could use the Inquisition to further its own goals. Cole was there, somehow, in my mind. I would have been lost were it not for him. I dread to think what would have become of the world had the demon succeeded.”  
Trevelyan nodded. “Dorian was that for me in Redcliffe. Magister Alexius sent us a year into the future, a future where we failed to stop him.” He breathed heavily through his nose. “It was horrible. The fate that befell my friends, would have if Dorian hadn’t helped me stop it, still haunts me sometimes.”  
Hera turned to look at him fully, not missing the warmth in his tone at the mention of the other man. “You speak fondly of him.”  
He didn’t look at her. “I speak fondly of all my friends.”  
Hera let it go, she had no right to pry. They sat there in oddly companionable silence for a while, watching the wind scattering fallen leaves across the courtyard, one sparring pair sputtered and halted their combat altogether to dislodge them. Hera snorted, making a mental note to set up a quick bout with them on an equally windy day. They were new and young, she’d not have trouble with them, but men their age tended to respond to shows of strength rather than words. Whipping their arses two on one generally did the trick. They picked their swords back up and resumed, at length Trevelyan spoke.  
“You were more fun last night, you know.”  
Hera looked at him quizzically. “In what way?”  
“You’re being all patient and indulgent, you types are no fun to poke fun at. What happened to yesterday?”  
Hera smiled, a little self-reproaching, “Yesterday I was tired, and I’m sorry to say I genuinely thought you were a demon.” She shrugged, “I was concerned. I turn to sarcasm when I lose my temper. It’s an old habit.” She looked across the courtyard, “One of many I’ve not been able to break.”  
“Not only when you lose your temper surely? You were messing with Bull earlier.”  
“I did no such thing.”  
“Oh come on. Keep Bull from a good dragon slaughter? No one’s that cruel.”  
Hera huffed a laugh. “Bull is a good friend and, though we may essentially be the same person from differing worlds, I’m afraid you don’t yet merit that title.” She paused, then bowed her head mockingly. “My Lord Trevelyan.”  
“Hah! There is hope yet.” He stood spryly from his crouch. “Come on. Some of Bull’s hideous liquor and a few good pranks from Sera and we’ll be fast friends. To the Herald’s Rest!” He sauntered off. Hera laughed quietly and stood to follow. He was yet a stranger, but she felt a kinship there. Perhaps because she knew this man was shouldering the same uncomfortable mantle as she, or perhaps because she just held a fondness for those with a penchant for sarcasm.____

_____ _

\--

_____ _

Hera rested the shaft of her practice maul against her shoulder, looking down at the two recruits now soundly on the floor and did her best not to laugh, though some of the sparring couples around them weren’t as successful. It hadn’t taken long to arrange a two-on-one spar with the easily distracted pair Hera noted yesterday and they had gone down embarrassingly easy, far too quick to anger and thus distraction. If they wanted to fuel their swings with rage far be it for her to argue, reaver that she was, but they needed to be able to focus it, not just swing wildly whenever someone outperformed them. She rolled her eyes and held out a hand to the both of them in turn. The blond took it, the brunet didn’t, standing on his own with an air of wounded pride.  
“Your names lads?” She slipped easily back into her captain voice. Leaves fluttered between them in the breeze, the blond raised his hand as if to shoo one away but appeared to think better of it. Behind them, safely outside the sparring ring, Cullen shook his head and buried his face in his hand. Hera suspected, from the slight hitching of his shoulders, that he was muffling his giggles. She looked back at the two young men before her as the brunet spoke. “Sammen Dunmear, Your Worship.” He said by way of introduction, the title tacked on grudgingly. “This here’s Ben.”  
“Ben Tamrys, Worship.” The blond added.  
Hera cringed inwardly at the title, but knew better than to correct them. Ideally, her men would all call her Adaar and dispense with the frankly ridiculous honorifics, but they had reputations to uphold and names were power, after all. Hera nodded. “You’re good.” She said. “A little green, but that’s what this place is for.” She gestured expansively to the sparring grounds. “You work well together but you underestimated me. Always assume your enemy can and will kill you, if you don’t, you’ll hesitate, or use less force then you think is necessary and end up dead. And work on that focus, a sharp blade and good instincts are useless if you’re distracted.” She clasped a hand on first Tamrys’s and then Dunmear’s shoulders and made her way towards the gate, unwrapping her hands. “Carry on!” She shouted to the grounds at large and she snorted at the sound of thirty-odd men and women shaking themselves in unison and doing their best to pretend they hadn’t been watching. She smirked at Cullen as she exited the training grounds and he shook his head despairingly at her.  
“You could at least pretend you didn’t enjoy handing them their arses.”  
Hera returned her weapon to the shed and rolled her shoulders. “And let them get complacent? Not a chance. Besides, you should have seen them the other day. Stopping their fight because of leaves.” She shook her head. _“Leaves _Cullen.”  
“They are young.”  
“All the more reason to make sure they live to get older. We can’t afford complacency, not when we have enemies baying for our blood in every corner of Thedas.”  
Cullen smiled ruefully. “I sometimes forget I’m not the only commander here. Forgive me.”  
“Captain, not commander. I can turn boys into soldiers, I have no idea how to turn those soldiers into an army.” She elbowed him gently and grinned, “That’s why I keep you around.”  
“And here I thought it my boyish charm.”  
Hera laughed and clapped him on the back, “Ah, no, I keep Dorian around for that.” He snorted and she turned and made her way over to the Herald’s Rest. She was halted just outside by a voice filtering down from above, accompanied by a slow and patronising clap.  
“Very impressive. Subtle as a brick to the face, but very impressive.”  
Hera looked up. Trevelyan was perched atop the roof of the inn like a crow. Sera was sat beside him, grin on her face and legs dangling lazily. She giggled, a high, bird-like trill. “That’s one word for it. Not the one I’d use, but yeah, works in a pinch.”  
Trevelyan looked between them. “Oh, so you and –?”  
Sera giggled again. “I wish, right? Woof.” Hera covered her face, cheeks heating slightly. She was no prude, but Sera’s direct and unfiltered attraction to her was still a little novel, particularly all the compliments; mercenaries didn’t really have much of a need for pretty. “Nah. Her Gracious Ladybits –,” Trevallyan snorted indelicately, “prefers her ladies all prim and proper, right?” She cleared her throat and, in a poor approximation of Josephine’s accent said, “Oh no My Lady Inquisitor. I must insist we marry before you stick your face up my skirts.”  
Hera barked a startled laugh. “Sera!”  
Trevelyan fell over backwards and Sera cackled at him. Hera could just see his booted feet kicking over the gutter. Harding poked her head out of the door, tankard in hand, face creased in polite confusion.  
“Everything alright out here, Adaar?”  
Hera rolled her eyes disgustedly at the two and moved towards her, Lace ducked back in and Hera followed, studiously ignoring Trevelyan’s somewhat breathless crow of “Ladybits!” from outside. The redhead raised a brow at her and Hera shook her head and gestured Cabot over. He ignored her and she rolled her eyes, bad tempered arse. “It’s just Sera,” she said to Harding, “being Sera.”  
Harding smiled knowingly. “It’s because you didn’t take part in her prank war. You know that right? She’s taken it to mean you’re a prude and is trying to cure you.”  
“I’m not a prude.”  
“I don’t know, you’ve got that crease in between your eyebrows, says you’re a frowner.” Hera frowned and Lace laughed. “See? In seriousness though, she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s one of those free spirits. Hold on.” She leaned over the bar and swore at Cabot until the balding dwarf turned around. “Ale please, for your boss?” Hera watched in amusement as the older dwarf thumped about behind the bar, finally planting a tankard in front of Hera with a grunt and a splash of froth. Lace smirked. “Just got to know how to talk to him.”  
Hera chuckled and took a long pull, wiping her mouth with her forearm. “I know she doesn’t mean it,” she said, picking up the conversation, “well, she does _mean _it, just not maliciously. I’m just not used to the incredibly direct and occasionally inappropriate compliments.”  
Harding finished her swallow, waggling eloquent bows. “You see,” she said, when she could speak again, “prude.” She laughed at Hera’s eye-roll and pushed her empty tankard in Cabot’s direction. “Barkeep! Another!”  
Cabot ignored her too. ____

________ _ _ _ _

\--

________ _ _ _ _

“So.” Hera rolled her eyes as Trevelyan climbed nimbly onto the bench beside her. Supper was well underway and the mess was crowded with hungry stomachs. Hera took another bite of turnip stew as Trevelyan served himself a bowl from the tureen. “You and Josephine?”  
Hera brandished her spoon at him and swallowed. “I didn’t pry into your love life. Don’t you go prying into mine.”  
Trevelyan took a delicate, well-mannered bite and chewed for longer than she thought strictly necessary, given that it was basically turnip water. “Well,” he said at length, “technically you _did _pry, but stopped when I asked you to. So there, I have pried and I have stopped.” He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully and at length. “Although Sera did provide me with any and all details she thought necessary.” He said once he’d swallowed.  
Hera sighed.  
“Most were quite filthy, would you like to hear?”  
“Absolutely not.”  
He hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose they would rather pale to first-hand experience.”  
“Is this it, then? You just pop out of the rift, the second coming of Sera?”  
Trevelyan snorted into his stew and Sera’s unmistakable cackle trilled behind her delightedly. Hera closed her eyes as Trevelyan chuckled quietly.  
“That’s her entertained for the next week. You really ought pick your words more wisely.”  
Hera nodded resignedly, taking another bite of stew and Trevelyan sighed. “You’re not close with Sera are you?”  
Hera felt an odd sort of affront. “I call her friend and gladly.”  
“No, I mean, you aren’t as close as, say, you and Cullen. Or Cassandra.”  
“I…well, no, we aren’t. And most of that’s my fault, I’ll admit, for not joining in on her prank wars and allying us with nobles she finds tasteless, those who mistreat their ‘little people’.” Hera sighed and shrugged helplessly, turning to look the blond in the eye. “I was a captain of a Tal’Vashoth mercenary band, there was no massive hierarchy there. I ordered my boys about, true, but when something needed to die I was knee-deep in it with the rest of them. I don’t know how to be The Face,” she gestured to herself vaguely, “I’m barely taken seriously as it is, I can’t be seen to be engaging in such public frivolity. No matter how much good it does our people, we need to be taken seriously, and for that I need to be taken seriously.” She sighed again. “I won’t be if I’m seen to throw pies at people and steal breeches.”  
“You don’t _need _to be seen stealing breeches. You could sneak.”  
Hera laughed. “Have you seen me? I am not sneaky. I am good at lifting, shouting and killing. The moment I try and sneak anywhere I immediately trip over my own feet. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve known Vashoth and Tal’Vashoth who could steal the wings from a sleeping dragon I, however, am not rogue material. Never have been.”  
Trevelyan looked at her, bowl of stew abandoned. “You could…engineer a prank? And have someone else pull it off?”  
“Like you and Sera?”  
“I am no-one’s minion. Though I imagine Sera would be up for it. Although,” He waggled his eyebrows, “if you were involved I imagine Sera would be up for anything.”  
“Oh shut up.”____

________ _ _ _ _


	3. Of Spiders and Baths and Foolish Heroics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hera is Not A Fan of the cold, or demons, or of cold spider demons, but begins to warm up to Trevelyan after the man tries to play the hero. Many baths are had.

Hera shivered and pulled her cloak tighter about herself against the Emprise’s frigid air. She looked back at her party, much shorter on their smaller mounts and all seeming about as miserable as her. She hated the cold, truly hated it, it bit into her old wounds and stabbed at her face and made her ache everywhere. She felt twice her age in the cold; she was a woman built for warmth. She could see the forward camp and, in the far distance, the faint green tinge of the active rifts they were here to close. Snow muffled hooves caught her attention and she glanced behind her to see Trevelyan riding in from the rear, heading in her direction. She eased her mount to the side to give him room, the great beast huffed and fought the reins but obeyed eventually. The smaller man drew even with her, hood low over his face, what she could see of his skin tinged faintly blue with cold.  
“You’ll need to be careful with those two.” He said around chattering teeth, gesturing at the distant rifts. “I’ve sealed both in my world and they both had a nasty habit of belching out an unfortunate number of pride and fear demons.”  
“The spidery ones?”  
“The spidery ones.”  
Hera shuddered, only partially from the cold. “We’ll keep an eye out. Thanks for the advice.”  
Trevelyan shrugged.  
The great wood and bone tower came into view, blue and white banners flying in the chill breeze. The small handful of soldiers there cheered as they neared. Hera dismounted, tying her hart’s reins to the most durable looking tree nearby and headed over to the nearest scout.  
“How are we doing? Those demons ruined anything more for us?”  
The woman shook her head. “It’s been fairly quiet. There is the odd rumble and roar here and there, mainly in reaction to nugs and snofleur I think. Mind yourselves, though. Mandis said he spotted a great bear not far off. Said it had cubs, three by his count.”  
Hera nodded. “We’ll keep our eyes peeled, thanks.”  
“There is tea, and Danim will have stew ready soon. Unless you intend to take the rifts tonight?”  
“I rather think we’d have a mutiny on our hands if I led my frozen party anywhere but bed tonight. We’ll camp here, it’s been a long ride.” She nodded to the other woman and headed back to her party, all of whom were now happily cradling mugs of something steaming. Dorian handed one off to her.  
“Ghastly stuff, but warm.”  
Hera muttered her thanks and took a long swig. Dorian was right, it was awful, but it was hot and that was all that mattered as far as she was concerned.  
“What’s the plan then Boss?”  
Hera looked over her mug at Bull, keeping her cloak tight about her. “The plan is to drink this tea, then eat the stew Danim is currently cooking up, sit very close to fire for a bit, go to bed and then get up with dawn to close those rifts.” She took a sip and shivered. “Then get out of this icy wasteland as soon as physically possible.” There were cheers at that and then more when a tall, bearded man, presumably Danim, pulled a large iron pot off of the fire and began dishing the contents into many small, wooden bowls. It was bland and overcooked; a recipe that was both easy to prepare and required few ingredients, designed for mass production, but like the tea it was warm and sat well in her stomach that evening.  
Usually, Hera was one to sit around the fire with her companions as the sky grew dark, swapping stories over sheaves of parchment, reports from her advisors that couldn’t wait until her return to the keep. That night, however, the tents were full shortly after the stew was consumed, and Hera’s reports could go hang, because it was cold and she hurt and missed the old days with Shokrakar and her simple existence.  
She fell asleep to Cassandra’s soft breathing from the other side of the tent and the war horn of Iron Bull’s snoring two tents over.

\--

The next morning was cold and the air full of fat white snowflakes. It was too early for any warm meal to have been brewed, the sun had barely crested the horizon, so Hera and her frigid, drowsy company broke their fast on staling bread and a haphazard concoction Vivienne called tea, though really it was just flash boiled water with green bits in it.  
Hera’s hart was particularly violent that morning. She managed to stop him from goring Sera but only barely and it took a good thirty minutes of cajoling to calm him down enough to mount, by which point everyone, including the hart, was ready to gore her through. The ride to the first rift was uneventful as the company woke itself up. Hera’s back ached, her right knee throbbed, the scars on her face, abdomen and shoulder burned and her left hand pulsated with its otherworldly cold the closer she got to the rift.  
As they drew near she could see Trevelyan mouth pride at her and she nodded, dismounting and tying her hart against the half-collapsed fort nearby. The green gash was but a few hundred feet away and she always hated getting her mount involved in battle, if only because he’d like as not trample her out of spite if he ever bucked her. She called out to her party as they neared, staffs alight, blades glinting, strings taut, “we’ll have some big company,” she shrugged her maul into her hands, swinging its familiar weight in wide practise circles as she approached, “keep back or low and hobble the bastards.” She stepped through a shaft of sickly green light spidering off of the tear in the sky before them and the rift exploded, five enormous, hulking demons, many-eyed and wielding thunderous whips of blue lightening, surged forth. One came straight for her and she immediately moved her grip lower, dashed behind it and swung her maul arc after arc into the back of what would be its knee. She heard Iron Bull doing much the same off to her left. Fire and lightening cracked the sky, arrows flew in deadly arcs and for a small time everything was terrible, glorious chaos. Blood and rage filled her vision, painting her enemies red, colouring the green of the rift a strange, eerie orange. She bludgeoned her way through the first phase of demons, the dragonsblood infusion boiling in her blood making her stronger, faster, bolder. She used the mark on her hand as an afterthought, the pain of it, otherworldly and alien, chasing the dragon rage away and, as always, there was a split second of emptiness, of not knowing who or what or where she was then suddenly she was herself again, Hera. In charge and aware and moving towards the next rift. It wasn’t worth untying the mounts, they’d make it on foot in barely half an hour so they left them, a gaggle of horses and two enormous harts huddled in the bowels of a crumbling fort.  
They moved at a jog towards the other rift, blood pounding, weapons still drawn, blades still wet with blood. Trevelyan mouthed _spiders _and Sera, jogging beside him, made a face at her, pulling her lower lip behind her top row of teeth and splaying her fingers either side of her face. Hera snorted. Spiders, yes. “Fear demons and spiders!” she shouted as they neared. She hefted her maul and gritted her teeth “so keep the leggy fuckers away from me!” Bull roared and it was almost louder than the crackle-boom of the rift belching forth its demons.  
There were a lot of spiders, and they always seemed to come for her. The rage pounded louder in her ears to drown out the fear. The blunt weight of her weapon broke legs, blunted teeth, turned demon and spider alike to mulch, she caught Trevelyan in the corner of her eye, silhouetted black on red, his left hand raised to the rift, disrupting it, weakening their enemies. The arc of green light, amber in her rage-crazed eyes, faltered and exploded and the blond was flung backwards with a cry of pain, hand crackling, landing limp as a ragdoll before one of the larger demons. The dragon rage roared in her head – one of hers was down - and Hera charged towards them, planting herself between the many legged demon and the man who could have been her. It plunged a clawed arm into her shoulder, hook-ended and wicked. The pain bit deep and she grinned through it, tearing the offending arm off with her bare hand and jabbing her maul into its hooded face with a wet crunch. She pivoted, followed the momentum of her weapon until she was a whirlwind, bringing the brutal head of her maul into the demon’s sharp, spiny body again and again, bones crunching, flesh renting, until there was nothing but air on the other end of her weapon. She returned to herself panting, slick with blood and ichor and held a hand almost absent-mindedly to close the rift. Solas moved passed her immediately, kneeling beside Trevelyan’s still form. She stepped back to give them both more room and her party gathered worriedly around them.  
“How is he?” she asked as the clear green of Solas’s healing magic faded, Trevelyan’s eyes opened, blinked slowly. They focused unsteadily on her and he pulled a face.  
“Don’t come near me. You’re disgusting. All…goopy.” He sounded drunk. She looked at his hand, still crackling under Solas’s ministrations.  
Solas looked up at her. “I cannot be sure, it is different from yours, somehow, but it feels stable. It appears to be reacting to the rift, as if the mark knows it is on the wrong side. He should be fine although I would recommend he not try this again.”  
“Yes, seconded. Is it safe to move him?”  
“I think so.”  
She crouched, pulled the blond’s arms around her neck and stood easily enough, shifting her grip to his legs. “Let’s head back, I’ll go on ahead, get him settled at camp.” She headed back the way they came, not bothering to shorten her strides for the shorter members of her party. The hart behaved, miraculously, as if sensing the urgency. She leaned Trevelyan against its thick neck and climbed on behind him, keeping an arm around his trunk for security as she dug her heels in and led the old boy off at a gallop, riding hard for camp, returning not long before sundown. She could smell roasting meat over the stench of her own sweat and the other filth clinging to her. She handed the reins off to a scout and he pulled a face at her; she could hardly blame him. She hopped off, carefully pulled Trevelyan with her and settled him into a bedroll.  
“Is he hurt ser?” She glanced at the well-meaning scout.  
“Not physically. The fade has touched him, though Solas has said it will wear off soon, he’s in some pain because of it.” She lied. She didn’t think the soldier could tell for all the filth on her face. “A good meal and a rest should do him good. Could you make sure he gets a good portion tonight.” She nodded at the bubbling pot and spit-roast.  
The woman nodded. “Yesser.”  
By the time Hera had managed to climb out of her armour and wipe the worst of the ichor away hoofbeats heralding her party’s arrival had begun thundering in the distance. She was shivering in the absence of her plate mail’s meagre insulation and still wasn’t clean, but it was better than the state she’d arrived in. She resolved to have several baths upon her return to Skyhold.  
Solas arrived first, handing his horse over politely and heading directly for the now sleeping blond. “Has his condition changed?”  
Hera wiped at her face again. “The light receded a little while ago, though he still seems discomfited.” She nodded at the spasming fingers of his left hand. “But he fell asleep a little under an hour ago. I’ve been waking him to make sure he doesn’t slip deeper. Other than that?“ She shrugged, “No change.”  
Solas hummed. “This is good. He should recover fully from this.” He turned his solemn face to her, question in his eyes. “You saw to his wellbeing personally. Why? I didn’t think you so familiar with our fade wandering friend.”  
Hera shrugged. “He tried to help. Damn fool didn’t even consider any possible harm to himself, just jumped straight in.” She smiled. “Were I in his place, it is what I would have done. Just proof, I suppose.”  
Solas considered her knowingly. “Proof that, had things been different, this man could have been you?”  
Hera smiled. “Not as strange a thought now as it once was.” She shrugged, “But then, very little is nowadays.”  
Solas chuckled.  
They camped for a further night and, when Trevelyan’s condition hadn’t improved beyond limited consciousness, they rode out the following morning, Iron Bull bearing the smaller man on his mount, the uncharacteristic passivity of Hera’s own having worn off by the morning. By the time they crossed Skyhold’s massive threshold three days later the blond was still barely lucid at best. He was ushered to his temporary rooms on Solas’s instruction and the elf began a more rigorous test of the other man’s health with all of his resources, too numerous and, in some cases, large to take with them on the road.__

____

\--

____

In the end, it took three baths to properly rid Hera of the layer of grime caked onto her skin. Her hair, fine and prone to tangles as it was, was still a mess of purple-black clumps at the end even after two baths’ worth of scrubbing. Josephine had joined her, finally retiring, just in time to stop Hera from hacking the hopeless tangles of hair and muck away. Hera had lost a lot of hair that way; as a member of an almost entirely nomadic mercenary band they had washed communally in rivers and lakes more often than not, actual baths being few and far between. Rivers and lakes, as a rule, had a nasty tendency to be absolutely freezing, so any washing that went on within was utilitarian at best. Hera’s customary bun tended to protect her hair from the worst of the muck she encountered but, when the time came to finally wash it, she would often end up short a few inches rather than spend any more time in the frigid water trying to untangle it. Warm baths were one of the perks of being Inquisitor she particularly enjoyed.  
Hera remembered the first time Josephine had caught her after having hacked away at her mess of hair. The other woman had made her promise to never resort to such drastic measures again, had even insisted on taking over and, if Josephine’s inexplicable fascination with Hera’s stringy, uneven hair meant an extra hot bath and what essentially boiled down to a scalp massage, who was she to complain?  
“You worry for ser Trevelyan.” Josephine murmured later, when they were both happily ensconced in one another’s arms. “I’m glad. You were so very hostile in the beginning. I don’t believe I have ever seen you so.”  
Hera hummed, tangling her hand in the other woman’s thick, dark curls. “I thought him some version of the envy demon from Therinfall, at first. I thought he meant you harm.”  
Josephine shifted against Hera’s side. “But you do not think so still.”  
Hera could hear the ‘why’ hiding behind Josephine’s words. She inhaled lazily, pulling the other woman closer. “He was a fool, to attempt to close the rift himself. If he’s his version of me then he must know how capricious the fade is, he must have _known _that there was a possibility of something going wrong but he did it anyway. It was foolish, and reckless.”  
“And selfless, brave,” she kissed Hera’s chin, “and exactly what you would have done.” She pressed a kiss to Hera’s lips, closed-mouthed and sweet. It did not stay that way, as she threw a leg over Hera’s wide hips and climbed atop her, mouth hot and moist against Hera’s. They breathed and moved together and Hera lost herself in the other woman for a time.  
Hera lay against the pillow, Josephine warm and damp beside her, and Sera’s voice trilled through her mind unbidden _“prefers her ladies all prim and proper” _and laughed breathlessly. Josephine shot her an affronted look.  
“I fear I must work on my technique if you have breath left to laugh.”  
Hera dissolved into giggles. Josephine propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at her. Hera enjoyed the novelty.  
“It is not me you find so amusing, I trust.” Josephine said, dark brow aiming for her hairline.  
“No!” She laughed and pulled the other woman down into her arms. Josephine squeaked. “Just something Sera said some time ago. It would tickle her to know she was wrong.”  
“I am both curious and alarmed.”  
Hera smiled over at her. “She was saying how I like my women ‘all prim and proper’, I’m just thinking of the size of the smile on her face were she to find out what you were doing mere minutes ago.” She watched the blush rise on Josephine’s dark skin and grinned. “Hardly something I would call proper.”  
Josephine swatted at her arm, face alight. “If you continue to tease me, I may yet decide I am a ‘proper’ lady and act as such. If memory serves, you are something of a fan of my impropriety.” She crossed her arms and glanced away with a huff, the picture of haughty offense, though a smile played around her lips. Hera pawed at her crossed arms, prying a hand up and lacing their fingers together.  
“I’m sorry. I’m done teasing, I promise.” It took no more than that to convince Josephine to press herself back up against Hera’s side.  
“Why is Sera suddenly on your mind?”  
“I don’t know, I just remembered that phrase and it amused me.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Did I ever tell you that Sera once tried to rope me into her ongoing prank war? She and Trevelyan keep trying to conscript me.”  
“No, you did not. A kind offer, you did not take it?”  
Hera shot Josephine a bemused look. “Well of course not. I couldn’t be seen to be so…carefree. We were under enough scrutiny as it was. Still are.”  
Josephine’s dark brows drew together and she smiled almost sadly. “Oh my dear, you worried for our image so you turned her down.” She nodded to herself, as if something had fallen into place that had eluded her for some time. “My love, we are all aware that you did not ask to be Inquisitor. We know this is a title and a responsibility that was forced upon you, one that requires you to push your true self aside in favour of the needs of the world, one that you have handled beautifully, with more grace and fortitude than we could ever have hoped for.” She kissed the end of Hera’s crooked nose. “But you must not lose who you are. Allow yourself to _be _yourself every now and again and, if you feel this may…insult the sensibilities of some of our allies, trust us, we your advisors, to unruffle any feathers as needed.”  
“So, if I’d asked you back then if it was a good idea, you would have told me to indulge?”  
“Without pause. You are not a saint, my love, though you certainly act the part. You are not expected to deny yourself the simple pleasures.”  
“So…do you think I should take Trevelyan’s offer?”  
“Of becoming a prankster extraordinaire? If you want to, then yes, of course.” She shot Hera a look. “Only, promise not to involve me – and if you must, then be gentle, yes?”  
Hera kissed her lingeringly. “Always.”______

____


	4. Of Angst and Pranks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hera accepts that Trevelyan might, actually, be a good egg, Sera finally convinces Hera to get her prank on and Trevelyan misses his train home.

Hera had never been to Hawke’s quarters while the woman had stayed with them, she’d had no need, so she couldn’t tell if Trevelyan had changed it at all during his stay. She closed the door behind her and took the space in. It was sparsely furnished and smaller than hers as were most of the chambers in this castle, she had come to learn to her chagrin. She understood the symbolism of giving the head of the Inquisition the largest rooms, though the understanding made her no less uncomfortable about the arrangement. Maps and scraps of parchment were stacked in the corners, small trinkets adorned the simple bassinet; a roughly hewn horse the size of her hand, a small silverite dagger no longer than her index finger, other things of little monetary value but no doubt bathed in a sentiment she was not privy to. The window drapes were a deep green, though she wasn’t sure if that was Hawke’s addition or Trevelyan’s. The bed was small and simple, similar to the one she’d had before Celene had gifted them a number of fancy furnishings and trinkets for their intervention at her soiree. On it, Trevelyan coalesced, pale and sweaty, though his eyes were bright and lucid, and were watching her in the doorway.  
She blinked at him. “Tell me you feel better than you look.”  
He coughed a laugh. “It can’t be that bad.”  
“You look like you’re about to melt into the bed.”  
“I _am _feverish, you know. It isn’t exactly my fault.”  
“Of course it’s your fault. It’s retribution for your fantastic idiocy.”  
“If you don’t mind, I prefer bravery.”  
“Reckless foolishness?”  
“Courage in the face of the unknown.”  
Hera propped her hip against the footboard, a smile playing on her lips. “Bullheadedness.”  
Trevelyan paused, mouth shaped in protest. He closed his mouth and bobbed his head. “No, I suppose that’s fair.” Hera made an unimpressed noise and Trevelyan sighed, exasperation colouring the edges.  
“I only tried to close a rift. We were overrun. _You _were overrun. I was trying to help.” He gestured at her with a shaky hand. “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have done exactly the same.”  
“Yes, but my mark doesn’t come from the _other side of the fade. _You had _no idea _how it would react to you.” Her concern was bleeding through the sarcasm and she was speaking with her hands now. “You could’ve exploded, the fade could have liquefied you. Or worse!”  
“Worse than liquefaction?”  
“There are many worse ways to die, and many things worse than death, even one as painful as that.”  
Trevelyan heaved himself, with considerable effort, onto his elbows. “Are you always this morose? You’re so _serious _all the time! So _in charge.” _His elbows gave out quickly and he flopped back onto the bed with a heavy exhale. “You really need to lighten up.”  
“I’m just saying that you’re lucky all you got from this was a fever.”  
“I know. I’m not, shockingly enough, an idiot. It was muscle memory. There was a rift, I have a glowy hand, I tried to seal it. I wasn’t thinking. Stop scolding me for trying to help, I’m not your unruly nephew.”  
Hera took a deep breath and turned away, running a hand along the curve of a horn, trying to calm herself down. The blond was right, he wasn’t an idiot. She was just very good at worrying about her men. And yes, as long as he was here, under her roof, he was one of hers. “I know you were.” She said at length, turning back to face him. He watched her pace with sharp amber eyes. “And thank you,” she clenched her left hand into a fist, the cold of the mark tingling the pads of her fingers. “I just…” She shook her head. “You worried me. You could have _died, _Trevelyan, and you have people waiting for you, friends.” She couldn’t imagine being in his shoes, parted from her friends, from Josephine, possibly forever? “We need to get you back to them, and for that you need to be alive.” She pointed at him, feeling a little like she always did whenever she inevitably ended up scolding one or both of the Adaash twins. It was a shame he’d never get to meet her company, the twins had been a thorn in her side in the Valo-Kas, and he would have loved them. “So leave the stupid heroics to me, alright? I’m bigger than you, I usually fare better when things explode in my face.”  
Trevelyan was looking at her warmly, face miraculously free of sarcasm.  
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as disgustingly earnest as you.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Kay”  
Hera blinked at him, not quite processing the response. “What?”  
The smirk that was lingering around his mouth spread across his face, warm despite the tease there.  
“Kay is fine.” He shrugged dismissively. “I’m getting tired of hearing my wretched family’s name every time you open your mouth.”  
The unexpected response threw her, and Hera could only respond with a slightly stunned “oh.” Sudden, unbidden warmth blooming in her chest. He laughed and she shook herself. “Uh, Hera’s fine too. Or Adaar. Whichever.”  
He laughed. “Does this mean you like me now?”  
Hera shrugged and crossed her arms again. “You’re okay. For an envy demon.”  
He laughed and she couldn’t help but grin.______________

\--

Hera rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. It was late, the moon was high in the sky and Leliana’s spidery scrawl was beginning to blur together on the parchment. It was cool under the pale moonlight but not cold, the sand was warm against her bare feet and felt almost alive, the way it moved with invisible air currents, grains whispering audibly against one another; she understood why they called it the Hissing Wastes. She looked away from the parchment to spare her eyes; the horizon was a flat, unmarked line as far as she could see, small clouds of airborne sand sputtering on the edge of her hearing. She could see shadows moving in the distance, the call of a gurgut sounding not far off, low and warbling.  
Hera gave up on Leliana’s reports and looked at Josephine’s elegant script instead and, though it was much prettier, it was no more legible to her tired eyes. She sighed and rolled the parchment up, slipping the reports back into their carrycase and stowing it in her satchel. She would look at them tomorrow, anything truly urgent had been dealt with earlier that evening.  
Sera appeared silently besides her, plopping herself down on the sand by Hera’s feet. “D’you stay up this late at Skyhold?”  
Hera tried to blink the tiredness away. It didn’t work. “Sometimes.” She said. She checked her potions belt, bundled up with her satchel. Plenty there, they would be fine, though she was running a little low on dragonsblood infusion. It should be enough to last, providing they weren’t out in the field for longer than a week more.  
“How d’you and Ruffletits ever get anything, y’know, _done?” _She gestured enthusiastically with her hands.  
Hera rolled her eyes. “Do you have to call her that? I know you’re a nickname fan but still.”  
Sera shrugged. “She’s got ruffly tits. Ruffletits.”  
“Josephine has ruffly shoulders. Arms. Both?”  
“Yeah, but Ruffetits sounds better than Ruffleshoulders or Rufflearms, right? And it means I get to say tits to her.”  
Hera snorted. “What is it with the nicknames, anyway?” She asked, honestly curious. She didn’t think she’d ever heard Sera refer to anyone by name.  
Sera shrugged again. “When you’re a Jenny, you got to make sure no-one knows, yeah? So code and that, right? Fake names for those you like, fake names for those you don’t. You do it long enough, it just stays, y’know? Habit like.”  
“So, do you choose a nickname because it’s obvious to other Jennies who you mean, or because you think it’s funny or what?”  
Sera shot her a disbelieving look. “You don’t make a secret nickname _obvious. _That’s stupid.”  
Hera held her hands up. “I was a mercenary. Not much call for secrecy. I just turn up and hit things.”  
Sera wiggled delightedly. “Yeah you do.”  
Hera rolled her eyes again. “Why Ladybits?” She hedged, regretting it immediately. Sera cackled and Trevelyan – Kay, she was still getting used to calling the blond by his given name, laughed softly somewhere behind her.  
“’Cause you’ve got ladybits.”  
Kay’s blond head appeared at her shoulder. “You walked into that one.”  
_“And” _she looked back at Sera, “and if I asked Ruffletits, bet she’d say they were real gracious.” She trailed off into delighted giggles and Kay sat on the log beside her, facing the fire.  
“You kind of walked into that one as well.” He stage whispered and Hera closed her eyes and groaned at them both.  
“What does that taste like?” Trevelyan murmured at length. She opened her eyes and followed his gaze to the handful of glass phials that had tumbled from her satchel, all filled with a dark red concoction; her reaver distillation. “Out of curiosity. You won’t find me downing your little potions, don’t worry.”  
“Nor me. Looks bloody rank.”  
Hera considered it. “I don’t know.” She said. “The rage usually kicks in so quickly I don’t really have time to notice the taste.”  
Trevelyan hummed. Sera shuffled off the floor and straddled the log on Hera’s other side as Hera bent to sweep the phials back into her satchel.  
“Bet it don’t taste no worse than my jar of fire. That stuff _burns _right down.” She made exaggerated retching noises.  
Hera turned to Kay as the other woman spasmed on her right. “Josephine says Solas thinks he’s found something promising. We’ll speak with him when we get back to the keep, after we’ve found Fairel’s tomb.”  
The undisguised hope in his face was almost painful to see. She put a hand on his shoulder when he buried his face in his hands and breathed out explosively. “We’ll get you home yet, Kay.”  
He breathed in slowly. “Well, that doesn’t give us much time for pranks then. You’d best get to planning.” She pretended not to hear the thickness in his voice, instead focusing on Sera, whose grin could have split her face in two it was so wide.  
“Never. You gonna prank with us, prudy miss ladybits?” Sera fairly vibrated. Hera felt Kay elbow her gently in her ribs, his pointy elbow hurt. She looked at Sera and felt her own mouth twitch up to mirror Sera’s somewhat manic grin.  
“She’s going to need some lessons from a professional, Sera. She’s so straight-laced.”  
Hera elbowed Kay back and Sera cackled.  
“By the Maker’s grace,” Cassandra’s voice floated from within one of the tents, “now there are three of them.”________

\--

As it turned out, Solas’s solution had been time sensitive, a fade rift that seemed to move at random, closing in one place and opening in another. His instruments had managed to predict where it would next open, not far from Skyhold, but by the time they’d received the raven it had closed and his instruments had lost it. Kay had, unsurprisingly, vanished for the rest of the day and that night Sera had snuck into her quarters with a skein of ale.  
“So, Kay’s luck is pissing terrible.”  
Hera looked up from one of Cullen’s reports, her untidy signature drying on the bottom of the page. “That’s one way to put it.”  
Sera climbed onto Hera’s bed and bounced a little experimentally. Hera raised an eyebrow at her and the blonde elf twisted in mid-jump, splaying on her side in a way that she would call alluring were it Josephine in the same position. “What, ‘m I not good enough for your fancy bed?”  
Hera smiled indulgently. “I’m sure you’re very good, but the position of bedmate is already full.”  
Sera made mock-frustrated noises and flailed a little. Hera laughed at her. “I assume you came here to discuss possible ways of taking Kay’s mind off his ‘pissing terrible’ luck?”  
“Oh! Yeah, so you still game for pranks?” She asked, in a voice that quite clearly said that she’d better be.  
Hera allowed a grin. “Of course.”  
Sera laughed delightedly. “I knew I’d win you over. So. I have plaaaans.” She drew the word out and wriggled her fingers in front of her face. Hera snorted and tested the ink with a finger, she rolled the parchment up and sealed it when her finger came away clean and put the roll with a stack of others of its kind to be handed over to her advisors or sent to the rookery in the morning. She joined Sera on the bed and took a swig of the proffered skein.  
“Alright. Hit me.”

\--

“Cullen hates me.”  
Kay rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t hate you.”  
“He’s never _glared _at me like that before.”  
Sera took the spoon out of her mouth with a pop. “He always glares at me like that. Means he likes ya!”  
“He does know it isn’t permanent doesn’t he?”  
Sera laughed and patted Hera on the head, as if she were a particularly slow child. “Course not. Wouldn’t be a prank then, would it?”  
Kay laughed at the look on her face and Cullen continued to glare at all three of them over the breakfast table, bright fuscia curls hanging sadly in his eyes.__

____

\--

____

Iron Bull was not bothered in the least by the breeches Kay had picked out for him. He wore the floral print surprisingly well. Krem had taken to calling him the Iron Flower, to which Bull pointed out that deathroot flowered and was no less deadly for it. Somehow, the moniker moved to Vivienne, Hera wasn’t entirely sure how. The circle mage seemed to approve it, given that no-one had yet burst into flame.

____

\--

____

Sera hid Cole’s hat, then spent the next hour explaining why. The spirit-boy came away with a base understanding of practical jokes, and the return of his hat; Sera came away with a headache.

____

\--

____

They left Vivienne alone, in unspoken agreement that they didn’t want to be reduced to charcoal.

____

\--

____

Hera replaced Josephine’s inkwell with one full of honey, then wrestled Sera to the ground and handed her jars of bees off to Kay for safekeeping.  
“That’s well stupid! ‘S not even a real prank!”  
“Well, I promised to be nice, and she loves honey.” She didn’t mention that Josephine had a habit of saving some for the bedroom whenever it was served at breakfast, much to Hera’s delight. Sera seemed to pick up on it anyway somehow and Hera smirked when the other woman’s eyes went round and glassy and did her best not to saunter when she left. Kay barked a startled laugh behind her. “Nicely done.”  
“That aint fair! I’m gonna be distracted all pissing day now!”  
Hera was very distracted that evening. Multiple times.

____

\--

____

Sera wanted to trim Dorian’s moustache. Kay begged them not to. He received a fetching phoenix-feathered headdress adhered to his head instead. Temporary, of course, though the Tevinter mage seemed to enjoy it, Hera rather thought it appealed to his overdramatic fancy.  
She pretended not to see the naked longing in Kay’s eyes, and tried not to dwell on how much it must hurt to see his lover look at him with nothing more than polite friendship. She held Josephine particularly tightly that evening and, when she next saw the blond, felt selfish and weak.

____

\--

____

Sera had somehow got her hands on a fake but very convincing spider. Hera suspected either Dagna or Vivienne. Possibly Dorian. The elf had somehow managed to sequester it away somewhere within Hera’s rooms and it had scrabbled, hissing at her, as she stepped into her bath that evening. Needless to say, Hera had run screaming from it. It was all well and good running into them fully armed, armoured and expecting a fight, Hera was much less prepared for such an encounter while naked in her rooms. Luckily, Josephine had been in her quarters handing some reports over. If she hadn’t, Hera would have run yelling into the great hall, starkers, during suppertime. As it was, her shriek caused a small panic that took a while to explain away. Sera shot the Antivan woman a glare of pure death over breakfast the next morning. Hera threw a radish at her. Kay laughed at them both.

____

Hera called the laughter on his face diversion enough; the sadness was still there, bitter at the edges, but he seemed distracted enough to be able to put it out of his mind, which really was the best they could hope for. Besides, she was running out of ideas, though Sera happily continued without her and, no matter how much she told Cassandra and Leliana that she’d had nothing to do with it, from then on neither woman trusted Hera with custard pies or onions.

____


	5. The Reality of Felling Giants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which saving the world is a messy sport, Varric teaches Cole how to write immersive fiction and Hera realises that she's actually quite fond of the Fade-walking human they put up in Hawke's old room.

_Three _giants. Three. Hera scraped a gauntleted hand across her face and flicked it at the ground, the _splat _of gore both satisfying and nauseating. She hated giants. They stank to begin with, great unwashed mountains of flesh, never mind when she started hacking bits off them. And their blood, gore, snot and every other damned bodily fluid always ended up all over her, mucking in at the front lines as she did. But three? Well, there was a river somewhere to the south of them, as soon as she’d dealt with looting the corpses she was going for a swim.  
“You know, I will always marvel at how devastatingly filthy you manage to get.” She looked up into the tree behind her, Kay was perched easily on a branch not far above her head, utterly pristine. “You need to get yourself one of these.” He waved his bow cheerfully at her, and nodded behind her. “Or one of those.” Dorian helpfully waved his staff as he strolled towards them from his safe distance. Sera cackled behind her, wriggling her way out of her own tree.  
“Ignore ‘em Adaar. Bloody archers and mages.” Blackwall appeared at her shoulder, looking about as bad as she did. She cringed at the thought of having to wash all of that out of his beard. The stocky man kicked the base of the tree Kay was in. “Cleanliness is cowardice!” Behind them, Iron Bull and Cassandra were in similar states, Cole less so, perhaps because he was just too fast for the gore to take.  
Kay laughed down at him. “Then call me coward sir. Coward and comfortable, no freezing baths for me today, thank you.”  
Hera gestured rudely at him and turned to begin rooting through the remains for whatever salvageable goods she could find. Blackwall followed her with the large satchel Dagna had designed for them, lined with some uniquely treated leather to keep its contents fresh. She harvested what she could from the bodies before going through their crude pocket-like sacks worn on the waist. She could see Iron Bull following Cassandra around in the same way. Collectively, they found mostly junk in two of the enormous pouches but the third contained two serviceable blades, a bow and a number of trinkets, she pocketed the latter; she would ask Dagna to look those over when she returned to the hold, they could have some useful enchantment on them. She straightened up and shook her hands off, wading out of the mess, and nodded at her satchel, addressing the less disgusting members of her team. “Can someone tell me how far are we from that river camp? The map’s in my bag.”  
Sera scuttled over and rummaged through Hera’s satchel, tongue between her teeth, and pulled the ink-stained, half complete map out with a flourish.  
“Right. We’re, uh, we’re here so river’s off over there.” She pointed on the map. Which didn’t help because Hera could only see the back of it.  
Kay dropped gracefully from his branch beside Sera, took her pointing hand and moved it down and to the right. Sera stuck her tongue out and scrunched her nose at him and he chuckled. “The river camp’s around half a mile south-east.” He told Hera. “If we follow that road,” he gestured vaguely behind him, where Hera could see the packed earth of a road between the trees, “and veer off we’ll find it before we find the river.”  
“Alright, anyone have a problem with setting off to camp?” Kay rolled the parchment back up and slipped it back into her satchel. She nodded at him. “Thanks. We need a bath, preferably before this all has time to dry.” She gestured at herself and the other three gore encrusted members of her party. Blackwall nodded vigorously, bits falling out of his beard. She tried not to dwell on it, instead heading off the way Kay indicated when no objections were voiced.  
The river camp was basically on the shore of the wide snake of water, so Hera left her armour at camp and made her way over to the water’s edge in her slip and breeches, Blackwall tromping along behind her, grumbling good-naturedly about ranged warriors and how little soap they must use. Kay would go through the reports the scouts had from her advisors and prioritise them as needed, he was Inquisitor after all; she trusted his judgement. She folded her slip and smalls over a low hanging branch and waded into the clear water, teeth chattering almost immediately.  
“Not built for the cold, eh?” the water around Blackwall’s beard was pink as he scrubbed at it with his hands. She moved away from him despite herself, stepping painfully on a particularly sharp piece of shale with a hiss.  
She shook her head and started scrubbing, hoping the friction would bring a little feeling back into her numb limbs. “N-not at all." She managed between shivers. "M-my ma used to say it was because I was too greedy in the summer months, g-got more sun than I needed s-so, when it wasn’t-t there, I felt it more k-k-keenly.” She dunked her head, not to wash her hair – she would do that at the hold – but to check her progress. There was more grey than red at least, though significantly more red than she would like. She surfaced and scrubbed at her legs, barely feeling it they were so numb. “M-m-m-my da, though, said it was because of how h-hot Seheron was. He was no good with the cold either, s-so he thought it might be some hereditary thing or s-something.”  
Iron Bull and Cassandra waded in after them.  
“What’s this about Seheron?” Water sluiced off his chest like red wine.  
“That it’s warm.” Blackwall said before Hera could answer. “And this water isn’t. No good for our Inquisitor.” He splashed her and she swore at him, completely failing to duck out of the way.  
Iron Bull grunted knowingly. “It is damn hot in Seheron. Too used to it, hey Boss?”  
Hera shook her head. “N-never been. I’m Vashoth, not Tal’Vashoth. My d-da couldn’t get used to the change, he thought it was why I was s-so rubbish with it.”  
Cassandra dunked her head and surfaced with a gasp. “That is cold. What is the distinction, if you don’t mind my asking?”  
Bull answered for her. “Tal’Vashoth live outside the Qun having known it and left. Vashoth are born to Tal’Vashoth parents and never know the Qun unless they convert.”  
“N-not gonna happen, no offense Bull.”  
The massive man shrugged. “It’s not for everyone.”  
“Well, this looks cozy.”  
Kay leaned on the trunk of one of the many buckling trees at the waterfront, roll of vellum to hand and smirk on his face. “Almost makes me wish I did need a wash.”  
Cassandra answered in her usual dry wit. “You might like to wash your face. The expression on it is quite distasteful.” Hera snorted. She could hear Iron Bull and Blackwall chuckling behind her. Kay rolled his eyes and brandished the rolled parchment at her.  
“When you’ve finished there are a couple of letters here that seem pretty important. I’d read Morrigan’s first.”  
“M-M-Morrigan? Since when does she send reports out?”  
Kay laughed at her. “I’ll send Madame De Fer over, since you seem to be lacking your usual hot air.” He turned and disappeared into the trees. Hera splashed fruitlessly at his retreating back.  
“Well,” she said, giving herself a quick once-over, “I think that’s as c-clean as I’m getting.” She waded out into the mid-afternoon air and, warm as it was, it was still too cool on her chilled skin. She made her way over to her clothes, spotting Vivienne’s elaborate horned helm moving towards her between the trees. The mage cleared the treeline and looked her over critically.  
“Darling, you are _not _clean.”  
“I’m as clean as I’m going to get in that water.” Vivienne tutted and gestured casually, her staff flared and hot air blew past Hera, heating her skin and she sagged in relief. She caught her chest wrap as it tried to escape in the sudden breeze. “Thank you, Vivienne.”  
The other woman waved her off distractedly as she turned to do the same to the others as they waded to shore.  
“Yes, yes. You’re welcome my dear. Do make sure you bathe _properly _when we get back.”  
Hera nodded, climbed back into her clothes and headed back to camp. She took the parchment Kay indicated from the blond and cast her eyes over the camp. Varric was by the fire, possibly teaching Cole his letters, possibly teaching him how to write smut, either was possible. Dorian was reading just inside his tent, though his attention seemed to be at least partially on the two by the fire. Solas was looking at a few of the elven artefacts they’d picked up on the way here, though he too kept glancing towards the two by the fire. If Varric really was giving their young spirit-boy tips for porn she would have words. “Where’s Sera?” She looked at Kay, whose smirk could have cracked his face in two, and sighed. “She’s by the river isn’t she?”  
Kay shrugged. “Said she wanted air.”  
“Mmhm.” She rolled her eyes and unfurled the parchment. “This one’s Morrigan’s?”  
“Oh, yes. Sounds intriguing. Possibly terrifying.”  
“Wonderful.” Hera read it through. She appreciated Morrigan’s assistance but the woman was too similar to Madame De Fer for her to trust fully; both women were opportunists, neither would be where they were if they had not seized every shred of power they could at every given opening. They were part of the Inquisition because it was powerful and served their purposes, the moment the organisation lost momentum would be the moment they jumped ship. She didn’t begrudge them that; she’d asked for their assistance, not their undying loyalty, it just made her wary of personal requests like this one here. Well, it wasn’t personal necessarily, but where Vivienne seized power socially, Morrigan sought it magically, and there was sure to be plenty of her sort of knowledge in this old temple in the Arbor Wilds. “And this is news to you?”  
Kay hummed. “If Morrigan knows of this in my world she’s not spoken of it.”  
“No tips then?”  
Kay shrugged. “Don’t die?”  
She snorted. “I say that to myself every morning. Worked so far.” Sera’s high-pitched giggle trilled behind them and Hera held in a sigh.  
“Maker’s tits they don’t half make you big, right? Did you _see _the size of Iron Bull’s-?”  
_“Not _listening- Cole! What are we learning today?”  
The young spirit looked at her for a moment, deep in thought. “That sex is better with more than one woman.” He said slowly, deliberately, as if parsing an alien concept. Varric buried his face in his hand and Hera crossed her arms. Dorian stifled a snigger. “And sometimes rope?” Dorian laughed and dropped his book.____________

_____ _

\---

_____ _

Varric had smuggled ale with them on the ration cart, of course he had. Hera couldn’t hold it against him, it would take some three more days, barring unexpected obstacles, to get to the temple in the heart of the Arbor Wilds, time enough for even the most sloshed of her company to have walked it off, and they hadn’t had a drink together at the Rest before they’d set off. It felt wrong to lead her men into a battle for the fate of the world on sober stomachs.  
Rather than join her closest allies in their boisterousness, Hera was content to sit on the side-lines, on the edge of the firelight, and watch them, these people with whom she had grown so very close. She was glad to have them by her side here at the end, but a part of her was saddened by the thought of the world losing even one of these lives. She liked to think that, were it in her power, she would march into this temple alone, spare these people the suffering that would undoubtedly follow, but she knew that she never would, both out of respect for them and their own minds, and also a selfish fear of dying alone, one she’d not been able to shake her entire life.  
She took a drag from her tankard, aware of the warm presence settling beside her.  
“Did you ever take a job in Ostwick?”  
Hera blinked and swallowed, turning to look at Kay.  
“Ostwick?”  
“In the Free Marches. Did you ever take a contract there with your company?”  
“Are you asking if your family ever hired the Valo-Kas?”  
“Very astute.”  
“Why?”  
Kay shrugged. “You look familiar. I’m almost certain it’s because of our…unique connection,” he gestured with his left hand, “but if it isn’t, if I’ve met you before, it means you exist in my world.” He smiled crookedly. “I’d like that.”  
Warmth filled her chest, nothing at all to do with the fire at her front or the alcohol in her belly and a smile creased her face.  
“That’s an alarmingly romantic sentiment for you. Perhaps you’ve had enough to drink, you are only small.” She feinted moving to take his drink from him. Kay stuck his tongue out and flapped his hand at her.  
“I’m the perfect size. You, on the other hand, are positively oafish.”  
Even sitting she was still taller than him, and his petulant expression spoke to something in her. Quite unbidden and unplanned she drew him to her side and scrubbed her knuckles against the crown of his head, messing up his carefully coifed hair, much like she had done to her brother years ago. It took her a moment to realise, as the blond fought his way out of her grip and fussed with his hair, that the younger man had become so familiar to her she had begun thinking of him almost as family and, what was stranger and still more unsettling, that she couldn’t recall a time, besides that first night, that she hadn’t.  
“What,” his tone was the very definition of upper-class offense “was that?” He fiddled fruitlessly with his now utterly bedraggled hair. Hera suddenly felt quite embarrassed. She shrugged.  
“It’s a thing people do. Older siblings to younger, usually.” She tried for nonchalant, she could tell she missed if the somewhat dumbfounded expression on his face was any indication.  
“Siblings?” He said at last, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. Hera scrubbed at the back of her neck awkwardly.  
“It’s not…it’s nothing. I didn’t mean –“  
“No! No don’t apologise. It…it’s nice, sweet.” They looked at each other for a moment, silence thick between them. “This does make me the pretty one, I hope you realise.”  
Hera pushed him off the log, laughing as he struggled back to his feet on wobbly legs.  
“You really have had a bit to drink, haven’t you?”  
Kay fell gracelessly into his seat. “And you, my lady, are a thug.”  
Hera nodded. “I’m a very good thug. It pays well. And no, I don’t think we ever took out a contract in Ostwick. At least, not while I was a member.”  
Kay drank deeply. “How long have you been a mercenary anyway?”  
She raised an eyebrow at him. “My Lord Trevelyan, are you being so uncouth as to ask a woman her age?”  
“No, I’m asking you.”  
She scrubbed her hand across his head again and he yelped. “Why do you always go for the hair?”  
“Because you obviously spend too much time on it.”  
“…I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”  
Hera chuckled. “Twenty…no –” she counted on her fingers, not brilliant with numbers, “nineteen years.”  
Kay mouthed the number back at her and she counted again. “I joined when I’d just turned eighteen, so yes, nineteen years last spring.”  
“And you’ve been a sellsword all your life? Nothing before?”  
She shrugged. “I farmed as a girl, out of necessity, not any sort of love for it. When tama and pa left the Qun it wasn’t with much so, once they settled down in this little place in the Marches it was farm or die, most of the coin they’d brought with them had been spent on the crossing from Seheron.”  
“Nothing between then and when you joined the Valo-Kas?”  
Hera shrugged again. “I left when I was fifteen, did odd jobs for a few years until Shokrakar spotted me one day beating a slaver up. The rest is history.” She downed the last of her drink. “You?” She asked, partially because she was curious, but mostly to get off the subject. She didn’t want to tell him her parents were both dead, it lead to questions, which lead to opening old wounds she’d rather leave closed.  
It was Kay’s turn to shrug. “I was born with my life planned out for me. Grow up, learn, go to the chantry and be a cleric, become the next in a line of boring and reputable Trevelyans.” He shrugged again. “In the end, were it not for what happened at the Conclave that’s what I’d be right now, some miserable cleric. I rebelled when I was younger with drink and,” he gestured at his hair, “this, used riding as an escape, but I still ended up at Haven’s chantry, ready to fall in line.”  
“Would you have, though? Or would you have subverted whatever was planned for you somehow?”  
“I’d like to think so, but I certainly didn’t have any actual plans going in.”  
“Often, the best plans are the loosest. ‘Don’t be a cleric’ is as good a plan as any.”  
Kay hummed thoughtfully, then gestured to her tankard. “Another?”  
Hera handed her tankard off. “One more, then. Someone has to be sober enough to wake these fools in the morning.”  
“If you wish to make merry, my love, do so. Just know I will not care for your headache when you moan about it in the morning.” Hera reached behind her and snagged Josephine about the waist, pulling her down for a kiss.  
“You aren’t drinking?”  
“Not much, I’ve never had the stomach for it. You will all be awake tomorrow, I promise.”  
Kay raised an eyebrow. “If that’s not a threat I don’t know what is.”  
Josephine laughed. “Go! Varric has cards, I believe they are trying to convince our dear commander to play one last game before the temple.”  
Hera glanced over at the fire, where Cullen was looking increasingly harangued as Varric did his drunken best to persuade him. Somehow, the chest hair didn’t appear to be working. Hera snorted. “Are you any good?” She asked Kay.  
“At Wicked Grace? Superb my lady. I mastered the art of procrastination some years ago.”  
Hera stood. “Then between us we can get someone down to their skivvies, I don’t care if it’s me. Cullen!” She waved her tankard at him and strode towards the group. “Up for a game of Wicked Grace?”  
Cullen winced. “My lady –“  
“Hera, Cullen. It’s my name. Adaar if you must. And don’t worry, Josephine is spectating only tonight.” Her lover sat down a little ways away and waved cheerfully. Cullen groaned.  
“Fine! Fine, but if I strip, you strip. I will not carry this indignity alone.”  
Hera shrugged. “Alright. But I will always respect you just a little less for your cowardice.”  
Cullen threw a clump of moss at her.  
“Maker damn you all, deal me in.”

_____ _


	6. The Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera and Trevelyan enter the Temple of Mythal. Only one of them comes out.

Hera did not trust Morrigan’s reasons for walking Mythal’s path. For a woman advocating haste to suddenly suggest performing an unknown number of ancient rites to appease a likely dead god sat poorly with her, but Solas proved the voice of reason, as always. This was a sacred place, ignoring that would not endear themselves and, despite her own beliefs, there was a presence here. It wouldn’t do to anger it.

\--

Abelas saddened her. It seemed a cruel fate, to exist only to protect this well, and only to be conscious whenever it called for defence, sleeping for years at a time, tens and hundreds even, only to wake in new and more confusing times, to new and more confusing threats. It sounded like the worst sort of trap. If Abelas and his people felt any of it they hid it well, their serenity was almost eerie, as much as it was admirable.  
Personally, Hera thought that whatever this well was needed destroying. Anything with enough power to warrant Corypheus’s attention was too dangerous by far. Power corrupted, that much she’d seen for herself, but power on this level? Even with the advantage it would afford her it couldn’t possibly be worth it. Hera had no doubts, she was not a fool; she was but mortal, with desires and aspirations not impervious to corruption. She would not allow herself to become what that demon had wanted to make of her.  
Of course, then Morrigan turned into a raven and everything went to shit.

\--

“You let her go!”  
“Calpernia wants to re-forge Tevinter, not tear her way through the fade. She and her people were misled, they deserve a chance to rebuild.”  
“They’ve _burned _their way across Thedas!”  
“And so have we! This is war, Kay. We are both fighting for a cause we believe just. Or were. Corypheus’s lies are exposed and they’re going home. Let them, we have other things to worry about.”  
A raven darted overhead, wings beating madly, heading for the massive plinth in the centre of the cavernous room. Abelas’s figure could just be seen mounting the golden stairs, ascending quickly. Kay and Hera both sighed. “Things like that?”  
Hera nodded and started running.__

____

\--

____

“This cannot be destroyed.”  
“Morrigan –“  
“No! Think of it, thousands upon thousands of years of knowledge wasted for what? Paranoia? Think of what we could do with this!”  
“Morrigan, this isn’t your knowledge. This belongs to Abelas’s people, we defer this decision to them.”  
“You would see it destroyed, then?” Abelas’s eyes were searching.  
Hera nodded. “If its guardians wish it so. Our objective was to prevent Corypheus from getting his hands on it, if it is destroyed then we have seen it done.”  
“Or if we drink from it ourselves! Inquisitor you can’t be serious, you can’t possibly think to waste this resource.”  
Hera and Abelas ignored her. The elf considered Hera. “You followed Mythal’s Path, honoured this sacred place as few outsiders do. You understand the value of our well and will still knowingly allow it to be destroyed.” He nodded shortly. “You may drink if you desire, or else destroy it, the choice is yours. I feel Mythal would wish it. Know, however, that drinking will exact a price from you.”  
Morrigan spoke immediately, almost before Abelas had finished speaking. “Inquisitor let me. I have devoted my life to the study of these things, you have no-one more suited to this in your company than I.”  
Hera held a stalling hand. “What price will it ask of us, should we choose to drink?”  
“You will be bound to Mythal, a servant of her will, as we are.” He turned to leave.  
Behind her, Solas held out a hand. “Where will you go?” Abelas looked at him. “My people and I will leave, now that our well is no longer in need of protection. Perhaps there is somewhere we may yet call home.” Solas nodded solemnly and said something in elvish to him, melodic and somewhat sad. Abelas answered in kind and turned, disappearing down the many golden steps.  
Morrigan laughed somewhat derisively. “It is hardly a price, to be bound to a long dead god that likely has no presence in this world anymore. Inquisitor, let me drink, please.”  
Hera looked at her company, all of whom looked uncomfortable at the idea. Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. “Let Morrigan drink.” She said lowly, though the mage likely heard anyway. “We don’t know what this will do to the drinker and you are too important to risk.”  
There were nods throughout. Hera looked at Kay. He shrugged. “I’d rather it be destroyed, personally. What if this price just…explodes the drinker’s brain? Fat lot of use they’d be then. If I get back, I’m going to have you all explode the shit out of it.” He nodded to their shared companions. Dorian and Sera nodded quite enthusiastically at the prospect.  
Morrigan’s impatient voice sounded behind them. “Have we finally reached a decision? Bearing in mind, of course, that we have a finite amount of time here.”  
Hera sighed and turned back to the other woman. They needed to defeat Corypheus and, though she begrudged Morrigan being right, they could not afford to waste this resource, but she would not trust this to Morrigan. She had no doubt that the woman would use its power to help them in their fight against the would-be god, but afterwards, who was to say? Without knowing her motives she simply couldn’t entrust it to her, especially considering how dishonest she’d been throughout this entire mission. She sighed, it would have to be her then. Again. Always. “We’ll drink.” Morrigan scooted towards the pool. “No, Morrigan. _I’ll _drink.”  
There was uproar from every side and Hera cringed.  
_“You _drink? By what qualification? By what right? I have spent my _life _preparing for something like this, you have no idea how to interpret any of this!”  
“Adaar! You mustn’t. Who knows what it could do to you? We need you alive, you are our _only hope _against Corypheus.”  
“You would be bound to Mythal forever, anything you do will be at her behest, whether knowingly or not. There will be no escape from it, you must reconsider.”  
“You really weren’t joking about the whole ‘heroic idiocy’ thing, were you?”  
Hera closed her eyes against the clamour. “Alright _enough!” _She sighed, “Cassandra, Solas, Kay – everyone please, I don’t see any other way.”  
“Well, if you’d just let _me _drink –“  
“Morrigan. Don’t think me ungrateful. I am glad to have had you with us, your knowledge has been invaluable and your advice has not steered us wrong. I trust you as a member of this inquisition but I know that we all have our own agendas, which” she hastened to add, “I understand entirely, I did not ask any of you to pledge yourself to this cause forever.” She sighed. “I’ll be candid. You are powerful, scarily so, and already you have more knowledge than I could comprehend, but this sort of power will corrupt and, honestly Morrigan, I fear what you could become. At least if I drink, I will be more easily taken down; I am no mage, I do not understand or wield magic as you do.”  
“How very altruistic of you.” Morrigan’s contempt could have melted the gilding from the steps.  
Hera sighed. “I’m sorry Morrigan. I don’t know you, I don’t know your motivations.” She shrugged. “I know my own. I’ll drink.”  
Morrigan backed away from the well, a mix of scorn and betrayal on her thin face. “We are given the chance to drink from this font of knowledge and we waste it anyway. I thought you were one of the few people who didn’t think they knew better than me.”  
Hera didn’t answer. It was a betrayal, she didn’t try and excuse her actions by insisting it wasn’t, and Morrigan’s intentions were more than likely harmless, but there was the risk, and as great as it was she just couldn’t take it.  
She moved towards the water’s edge and Kay caught her shoulder. “This is the very pinnacle of idiocy, I hope you realise.” She caught the worry behind the scorn and smiled tightly.  
“I suppose the two of us have different approaches to being saviour of the world. Just make sure you hit this thing really hard when you and yours make it here.”  
“Yeah.” She drew him into a quick hug and turned to the water. It was cool, but not unpleasantly so when she stepped in and it rushed in through the joints of her armour. It tingled a little, as if she’d just stood up after sitting for too long and it was deep enough at the centre that she had to stand on tiptoe to keep her head above the water level. She cupped her hands and raised them in a mock toast to her company, gathered worriedly at the water’s edge, and drank.____________

_______ _ _ _

\--

_______ _ _ _

Hera awoke to blackness. The sickly light from her left hand illuminated her own grey skin but nothing else. From what she could tell she was whole, though her armour and underclothes were noticeably absent, whispers, many voiced and unintelligible to her ears, sounded around her, bursts of colour, quick and luminescent, darted across her vision with each, swirling raggedly around her like curious shadows. A voice, quiet, solemn and ageless, cut through it all, sounding within her head like a bell, as if it had ignored her ears completely.

_______ _ _ _

_Who are you? ___

_________ _ _ _ _ _

She felt the question asked more than her name, it asked who she thought she was, who she wanted to be; it asked things she didn’t know the answer to, things she had never considered, things she didn’t truly understand. She got the impression that an answer wasn’t required, that the question was a mere formality, but still she answered aloud, if for no other reason to check that she still had her voice. “I am Hera Adaar.”

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_What are you? ___

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Again the murmurs in her mind, more questions than she knew the answers to. Again she answered aloud, “I am Vashoth, mercenary, Inquisitor.”

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

There was…a pause. In everything. The whispers died, the colours darting around her stilled, hanging in place like many faded stars.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Why are there two? ___

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There was a yelp behind Hera, and a stream of panicked obscenities. She turned around, as much as she could in a place with no directional markers.  
“The fuck!” Kay was there, turning quickly on the spot, eyes seeking a light source, illuminated faintly by his own left hand.  
She moved to grab him but though better of it. “Kay!”  
He stopped flailing and looked in her direction, expression both relieved and utterly lost. “Hera. What –?“ He gestured frantically at her, “What?” He repeated, seemingly lost for words. Before she could answer the colours began moving again, resolving into a tall humanoid figure between them, long-limbed and featureless.

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Why are there two of you?” ___

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The voice was the same, distant, unearthly, but somehow more present than before, as if the words were heard now, instead of just there. She looked at Kay, he shrugged at her. “Don’t look at me. I was out…there.” He gestured vaguely at everything.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“You are…Kay Trevelyan.” ___

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It wasn’t a question. Kay blinked. “I am.” He hedged.

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“I know you. You are Inquisitor, but you do not belong to this world.” ___

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I…no, I don’t.” He looked at Hera. She shrugged.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Both sides of the Fade must close. You must return. To Adamant, or your Inquisition will fall. Both of them.” ___

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Kay opened his mouth to reply and vanished. Hera started forwards, “Kay!”

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Calm, Hera Adaar. He is returned.” ___

______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“To his world?”

______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Yes. Now you alone are here, as it should be. Tell me, why did you drink?” _  
Hera considered the question. “To keep it from Corypheus and, if possible, to learn how to beat him.”  
The tall, luminescent figure appeared to consider her. _“I have such knowledge and will relinquish it, but a price must be paid in exchange, what I offer is no gift.” __  
Hera nodded. “I was told the price was service to Mythal herself.”  
The figure nodded its head. _“And you are prepared to pay this price?” _  
If it meant stopping Corypheus. “I am.”_____

______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	7. A Reunion of Fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Trevelyan back in his own world Hera's life goes back to normal, or as normal as it gets; the Exaulted Council is called, the Qun are on the move, the Dread Wolf looks awfully familiar and the Fade is playing up again.

Hera woke with a gasp and chaos erupted above her.  
“Boss!”  
“Hera, thank the Maker –.”  
“Andraste’s tits Ladybits don’t do that to me!”  
She waved a hand to shut them up as she gasped for air, taking great lungfuls as if she’d been holding her breath for hours. Solas rested a hand on her, now clothed, shoulder. “Are you alright Adaar?”  
She nodded, her chest feeling less like it was about to explode. “Fine. Good.” She ignored the disapproving expression on the mage’s face and stood up, noticing for the first time that the well was now nothing but a dry bowl, her party gathered about her in its hollow. Sera grabbed her forearm.  
“Kay’s gone! Just pfft, vanished, no magic smoke or nothing.”  
Hera nodded. “He’s home. Mythal sent him back.”  
“Seriously?”  
“Seriously. He’s got his own crazy magister to deal with.”  
“D’you think we’ll see him again?”  
Solas answered before she could. “Unlikely. Once we close the breach for good there will be no way for him to get through.”  
Hera didn’t have time to comfort the other woman, as an explosion shook the temple just as Solas finished speaking. Black smoke erupted, curling up to the vaulted ceiling and Corypheus appeared, gliding through it as if he were half made of the stuff. His searching eyes found the well and the short-lived jubilance on his malformed face twisted into rage and he screamed wordlessly, locking his crazed, red eyes on hers and shooting towards her like a hideous firework.  
Hera darted her gaze around them, looking for an exit and the eluvian at the back of the well began to glow, she didn’t think and pushed first Sera and then Cole towards it, waving at the rest of her party.  
“The mirror! Go!” She swung around, hefting her maul and staring the crazed would-be god down. Cassandra hesitated. “Adaar –“  
“Go! I’ll be right behind you.” She clenched her left fist and allowed the fade magic to build, ice cold and crackling in her veins. An angry green welt snaked across the ceiling, smoke-like magic curling forth and seizing at the approaching madman, draining him, slowing him down. Cassandra shouted behind her and she turned, quickly enough to see the other woman vanish through the rippling silver-blue surface, the last of her company safely through. Corypheus roared behind her, rocketing forward as the last of her fade magic dwindled to nothing. She pivoted and sprinted, hurling her maul through ahead of her and diving after it, Corypheus’s cries of anger chasing close behind suddenly silenced as the mirror’s surface solidified behind her.  
She hit the floor gracelessly, a knee barely missing the shaft of her weapon, and she straightened immediately, taking stock of her surroundings. Her party was here, everyone accounted for, and they appeared to be in the side room off the great hall in Skyhold, where Morrigan had first told her about the eluvians.  
“Is everyone alright?”  
“Barring the near death experience from your instrument of blunt force trauma?” Vivienne gestured distastefully at Hera’s maul, laying a few inches from the mage’s feet. “Yes, I believe so.”  
Hera scrubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry about that. Didn’t have time to sheathe it before I went through, and Corypheus was on my heels. Wasn’t a happy magister.”  
Cassandra smiled. “I have never seen such anger. We must have dealt him quite a blow, removing the well from his reach.”  
“Yes.” Hera swallowed a sigh at Morrigan’s patronising drawl. “Just what is it like, my dear, having a head full of knowledge you can’t make head nor tails of?”  
“Morrigan –“  
“Don’t bother. Actions speak louder, and it is quite clear exactly where your loyalties lie, and with whom they do not.” She left, back stiff, offense radiating off of her in almost visible waves. Hera sighed and Cassandra took her by the elbow.  
“I’m sorry, we do not have time to mend bridges. We must tell the others, such a blow to our enemy cannot go unexploited.” She left quickly, bee lining for the rookery, Hera followed after, the rest of her party shuffling after them and dispersing. She did her best not to look at Solas as he passed her; the elf’s expression was thunderous, no doubt she’d get an earful from him sooner rather than later. 

\--

It took a little over two weeks for her advisors to receive Hera’s raven, mobilise the troops still in the Arbor Wilds and march back to Skyhold. Hera would have ridden out to meet them halfway had she not received pre-emptive warnings from all three of her advisors, plus Harding, Sutherland and a number of others, telling her to stay put.  
Given the amount of time she had to kill, and the finite number of hiding places there were in Skyhold, Solas cornered her on the third day. He seemed to have cooled off; at least his expression was mildly disdainful rather than outright murderous.  
“Why did you drink? You are an agent of Mythal, now. No matter what you do from now on one way or another you do it for her. Why would you enslave yourself? Morrigan was willing!”  
“Morrigan is powerful and has aspirations beyond my knowledge. I know my own mind.”  
Solas looked away, not conceding the point, but acknowledging the truth in hers. “You at least had the sense not to dismiss Mythal as she did, I doubt such casual irreverence would have been well-received. Still,” he looked her in the eye, “existing aspirations notwithstanding, you have a power now beyond any you previously possessed. To do nothing with it is beyond selfishness, what would you do with Mythal’s knowledge, once Corypheus is dead and his threat undone?”  
Hera hadn’t considered this at all. Granted, it had only been three days but still, the future was close, she needed to think about it before it caught up to her. “I don’t know.” She answered honestly.  
“That isn’t good enough! This power? It must be directed. You were fool enough to accept it, also accept the responsibility that comes with it. Inaction is not an option.”  
“I know that!” She snapped, losing her temper a little. “I’m not an idiot, but Corypheus is my priority. For all we know I’ll die sending the bastard back and it’ll solve all of our problems.”  
“Do not joke about such things.” Solas’s voice was dangerously quiet.  
“I didn’t –“ She sighed and rubbed at the curve of a horn. “I’m sorry. I just, Corypheus comes first. When I’m free to think about everything else, I will but for now I just don’t know what I’ll do.” She looked the mage in the eye. “I will do something. I promise you that.”  
Solas nodded, not satisfied, but seemingly realising that was all he would get from her. “I’m glad you did not come to harm.”  
Hera smiled, some of the tension bleeding out of her spine. “Me too.” She stood there awkwardly for a second. “Right, well. I’d best…go. Check Varric isn’t teaching Cole something woefully inappropriate again.” She shuffled out of Solas’s room, not sure if she imagined the small smile on his thin lips as she left.

\--

Corypheus fell. Solas vanished. Cassandra was chosen as Divine. Thom Ranier left to atone for his sins. Sera vainished occasionally on Jenny business. The Iron Bull and his Chargers began taking contracts again. Dorian left for Tevinter. Varric left for Kirkwall, to rebuild. One by one over the period of two years her party vanished, only Cullen and Josephine remained steadfast by her side, though both had their own business to attend, and she didn’t see her lover near as often as she would have liked. And then the High Council was called, qunari warriors were found in the Winter Palace and everything went to shit. Again.

\--

Solas was a god, as it turned out, and wanted to turn the world on its head and kill everybody but the elves. Logic would dictate she try to take him out here and now, given that if she didn’t her world would crumble to nothing by his hand, but he was a god, her left arm was nothing but green fire and he was so…him about the whole thing. So calm and solemn and regretful that she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.  
He looked at her, on her knees, arm on fire, and smiled sadly. “Given that you are not knowledgeable of the fade and the intricacies of elven gods, I will tell you that yours is not the only world I walk.”  
Never let it be said that Hera was stupid. “You’ve been to Kay’s world? He’s alive?”  
He nodded. “He yet lives. I am unlike your other companions; when I walk in one world I am not present in the other. I am not a copy of Kay Trevelyan’s Solas because there is only one of me. You cannot copy a god.”  
Then there was still hope for them. “Doesn’t that effect your plans? There being two worlds?”  
“There will be only one in the end.” Or not.  
Well. Wonderful. The elf nodded decisively and his eyes flashed silver blue again. Pain tore through her arm and, she thought distantly as she tried to swallow the scream, she was only a little bit astounded that she hadn’t already lost more body parts to the shitstorm that was her life now. Solas placed a hand on her shoulder but it did nothing for the pain or the angry light crackling under her skin.  
“I am sorry you must endure this, but I thought you would appreciate a final goodbye. Remember though that your time is finite. Your worlds cannot touch for long.” He turned and began to walk away, the green of the fade billowed outwards from his slight form and rushed past her, dispersing like smoke on water. She stared after Solas’s retreating back.  
“Hera?”  
She turned and the world seemed to shift, as if her view down from atop the rise had been cut in half and inverted. A second eluvian sat beside the one through which she had come, frozen qunari warriors scattered either side, identical but flipped. A green shimmer cut between them, not unlike her fade shield, marking where the two reflections met, a straight line from the mirrors all the way up to the hill she knelt atop of and, kneeling across from her, tinged slightly green by the barrier between them, his own left arm nothing but jade flame, was Kay.  
“Kay!”  
He looked tired, careworn, but a relieved, disbelieving smile was spreading across his lips despite the fatigue and obvious pain.  
They stared at each other in shocked silence for a moment. Kay broke it with a smirk. “It’s been a while. Good to see the whole Well of Sorrows thing didn’t go up in flames.”  
She shook herself, a smile creasing her own face. “No it didn’t, shockingly enough. Did you drink in the end?”  
_“Maker _no. Morrigan did.” He shrugged and hissed as the gesture pulled at his left arm. Hera winced in sympathy. “Couldn’t bring myself to destroy it.” He bobbed his head at her. “You beat him then?”  
“Corypheus?” He nodded and she smiled. “Of course, we wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t. I’m assuming you did?”  
“Oh yes. Vanished him into the ether. It was all very dramatic and heroic.”  
She chuckled. “I’m sure.” They lapsed into silence. “Are you alright?” She gestured to her arm. “I mean besides the obvious.”  
He smiled tightly. “The past two years have been a little hard. Everybody sort of vanished.” Hera nodded and he looked at her side-on and sighed. “Dorian included. He’s going back to Tevinter after all…this.” The heartbreak was clear on his face and Hera threw caution to the wind and reached through the strange barrier to clasp his shoulder with her not fucked arm, a little surprised when her arm didn’t disintegrate or explode as it passed through the boundaries of their worlds.  
“I’m sorry.”  
He shrugged. “Me too.” He looked at her and cocked a grin. “Hey, look at that, you’re in my world now.” He nodded at her hand on his shoulder.  
Hera widened her eyes in mock-astonishment. “Everything’s different now.” Kay snorted at her antics and Hera grinned, though it was short lived as pain lanced through Hera’s arm and she gritted her teeth against another scream, Kay’s own aborted yell echoing it. A finite amount of time indeed. The blond swore.  
“Fucking-“ He looked at her, face pale. “So.” He said, almost conversationally, “Solas is the Dread Wolf. How about that?”  
Hera growled under her breath. “Yes, and he wants to kill us all. No offense!” She added, voice heavy with sarcasm, “because he loves us all, just not enough to not murder our entire collective species.”  
Kay breathed a dry, humourless laugh. “You’re going to save him, right?”  
She gave him a look, one she reserved for people who were particularly stupid.  
Kay recoiled. “Ouch. I think I felt that.” He made a show of patting himself down for invisible wounds.  
She rolled her eyes fondly, glancing at the eluvian and considered the people left behind there. “What are you going to do with the Inquisition? After you’ve survived yet another ridiculous adventure, I mean.”  
“Disband it.” His answer was immediate.  
“You’re a lot more certain than I am.”  
Kay scowled. “They want to leash us? They can go and fuck themselves. I know Solas, they don’t, and they won’t give two shits about helping him. I’ll stick with the people I know I can trust.”  
Hera nodded. They needed to disband, their work was done and she wouldn’t trust any member of the Exalted Council to help look for Solas without agenda. She needed to part on good terms, however. Her Inquisition had always been a force for peace and, as much as she would love to turn the council room blue, until it disbanded she was still the face of it. She might still need their help in future, Maker forbid. Kay seemed to sense her thoughts.  
“You’re going to be soft with them aren’t you?” There was judgement there. It made her hackles rise.  
“I’m going to be diplomatic.”  
“Well I’ve had enough of playing their thrice-damned game. You should too, the way they’ve fucked you around.”  
“Can we agree to deal with our respective councils however we see fit and leave it there? I don’t know if I’ll see you again, I don’t want to spend what time we have left arguing about how pissed off we are.” She shrugged. “Maybe this is death? Who knows?”  
The air seemed to go out of him. “You’re right. And I forgot how morbid you are. This isn’t death. It can’t be. I’ve got a beautiful man waiting for me.”  
Hera laughed. “And I a beautiful woman.” She glanced at her arm. “Don’t think she’ll take this well though.”  
“Maker no, nor Dorian. Anyone, really.” He sighed. “I can’t believe I’m losing my _arm _to this shit.”  
Hera shrugged. “I assumed I was going to die. That’s how these things generally go, right? This is a step up for me.”  
Kay shrugged and shot an almost apologetic look in her direction before looking away. “I had Josephine find the Valo-Kas, by the way.” He said and Hera startled. “I wanted to see if you existed in my world.”  
“And?”  
He looked back at her for only a moment, eyes skittering away again. “You did. You died at the Conclave.”  
Hera nodded, not overly surprised. “I thought as much.” She said carefully. “We found your family, they said the same of you.”  
Kay looked at her. “Do you think that’s why there are two worlds? Because we were both meant to survive?”  
She shrugged. “Who knows? Our fade mage has written himself out of both worlds.”  
They were quiet for a moment. Hera sighed and wrapped her arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. His arm went around her waist immediately. “I missed you, you know. Other me.”  
Kay sighed from somewhere near her shoulder. “I missed you too. Although, no offense, I hope we never see each other again, because whenever we do it’s because the world is ending. And I like my world. Mostly.”  
Hera smiled tightly and swallowed. “But if the world does end, yours is a face I’d be happy to see.”  
Kay squeezed with his good arm.  
They sat there for a moment, preparing themselves, bracing for the future. Hera sighed and moved her hand from his back, ruffling his hair for the last time. He didn’t complain. “Come on.” She pulled away and stood, offering her good arm to Kay. He took it and she hauled him upright. “Let’s do this.”  
They made their way down the incline, dodging matching qunari, frozen mid snarl, and stood before their respective mirrors. She looked down at him, the mist between them beginning to swirl, growing thicker by the minute. “Good luck, with everything.”  
He nodded, waved his hand in front of his face as if to disperse the fog, see her clearly. “You too. And have a good life. A _long _life. And punch Solas when you find him again. He’s my friend but he really does need it.”  
“Yeah, same to you if you see him first.” She paused. “We’re just stalling now.”  
“We are. On three, yeah?” His voice was getting more distant, the mist thicker and she grabbed for his hand, the childish impulse surprising herself. He squeezed back, barely visible.  
“On three.”  
They didn’t move for a moment, standing still before their eluvians, hands clasped in the space reforming between their worlds. She really didn’t want to lose another brother.  
_“Three!”_______

_____ _

\-- 

____

She hit solid ground with a crunch of rubble, the Library’s eerie green light bleeding through her eyelids. She pushed herself to her feet with effort, hands catching her elbows and shoulders and helping her up. Her party’s faces were close, worried and, to her rapidly tiring eyes, slightly blurry. They were speaking to her but she couldn’t understand any of it; their voices distorted as if she were hearing them from underwater, though it may very well have been the pain in her arm scrambling her faculties. Her arm was on fire and her legs were like jelly, all the strength waning suddenly and she would have fallen if Bull hadn’t caught her. He heaved her into his arms and she had two thoughts before she blacked out.  
The first: she’d not been held like this, as if she were small and safe (and cherished), since she was thirteen and had cut her foot open with a hoe, her pa had carried her all the way to the town healer, almost an hour’s trek away. She still had the scar.  
The second: let’s _fucking _do this.__

____


End file.
